


Don't jinx it

by stilinskisoul



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic, Feels, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Orphans, Slice of Life, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Is Isaac's Anchor, Stiles is Derek's Anchor, Stilinski Family Feels, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, because i want it to be a surprise, the story is still lack of archive warnings so dont worry, there is a major twist in the tale that i am not tagging, wee!Erica, wee!Isaac
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-02-28 16:02:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2738510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisoul/pseuds/stilinskisoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life as a university student isn't just about partying, losing virginity, making friends and studying—it is also about learning how to live on your own, to work hard, make sure you won't fail your tests and won't loose the roof from above your head. And also, to do something for a living. Stiles has managed to work it out; his Dad sends him money monthly, but that's only enough to pay for his rents and for a week's food. To get the rest of his supply, he works as a librarian.</p><p>Everything went smoothly until Stiles stumbled upon two orphans when he was on his way back to his apartment in New York. His money is enough for him, but not for him <i>and</i> two more peeps. Thankfully he's found a solution for this issue, and no matter how much he loathes it, he has to go with it.</p><p>But nobody can know about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Readers!
> 
> I wanted to write a story in which Stiles is a librarian for a long while, but no idea popped in my head for a plot in which I could apply it, so I frozen it and put it somewhere away in my head, to a far corner where it could stay put until I decide to go and search for it again.
> 
> Then during ironing, my mind was wandering (I always unleash my thoughts when I'm doing that), and suddenly I had an idea out of the blue. The main parts of the story came naturally, along with some details, and also the major twist. I think it's needless to say that right after I finished my duty I rushed to my room, grabbed my laptop and started to write this. (Basically this is the tale of _Don't jinx it_.)
> 
> I really hope you will like it at least as much as you enjoyed _I'll do whatever it takes to be the Mistake you can't live without_.
> 
> Unbeta'd, mistakes are my own, and I'll take responsibility for them :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more thing: this is how I picture the two kids: [Isaac](http://data1.whicdn.com/images/73423142/large.jpg), [Erica](http://www.lynnquinlivan.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2010/06/Lynn-Quinlivan-Family-Photographer-Worcester-MA-CT-Connecticut-5.jpg).

The cold winter breeze lulled the fitfully-falling snow right into Stiles' face. He tugged his gloved hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket and ducked his head lower so his mouth was shielded by the knitted scarf around his neck—as a Californian guy, he wasn't used to such a chilly weather. Not even now, when he'd spent a bit more than half a year here in New York.

His classes were over for today, and it was a few minutes past eight in the evening. Darkness had already fallen, and all he wanted to do was slumping onto his bed with a cup of steaming hot chocolate and his computer in his hands. He had been dwelling whether he should read the book he'd been busy with or play a video game. In the end, the latter option won out, since Stiles thought he'd read enough that day while in the university.

He did grocery shopping, then headed back into the cold streets of the city. The pavement was framed by two white lines of snow and was damp due to a former layer of snow on it that had apparently been swept away. Stiles weaved his way through the crowd of people, trying not to mind that they were constantly bumping into him, causing his hand to fly out of his pocket sporadically. Stiles just swallowed down his anger at that and continued to walk forward.

Something urged him to a halt, though. He glimpsed two shapes in his peripheral vision. The two were standing in the stark blackness of the impasse between two bricked walls, barely noticeable. He turned and waited for a few moments to let two or three people hurtle their way over in front of him before slowly, cautiously approaching the two figures. The closer he got, the greater amount of horror settled on his gradually paler and paler face.

Two children were standing there, one of them hardly older than a toddler. However, both of them were wee enough for it to be strange to find them all alone in the middle of a busy street. Stiles offered a meek smile before lowering down into a crouching position in front of them.

“Hey there,” he said. The boy took a step backwards warily, gently tugging the little girl along with himself. He never once broke eye contact with Stiles as if this way he could read his mind and prepare for a possible attack. Stiles tried to ignore this as he went on talking. “You lost your mother?” The boy winced at the word, but remained speechless, merely staring up at Stiles without doing so much as parting his lips. What's more, he clenched them together tighter.

Stiles glanced down at his hands—they were beyond pale, bordering turning blue. At this, Stiles couldn't help but instinctively extending his hand, reaching out to touch the tiny expanse of flesh. The little boy shivered when the warm piece of clothing touched his skin. Stiles could feel it was ice cold even through the fabric. He immediately took off his gloves and gave it to the boy; he pushed both of his hands into it, then did the same with the girl, whose hands were in an even worse state, being she was younger and her body smaller.

“What happened to your parents?” he asked again, assuming it was best to try and help them to find their relatives. The boy shook his head, his dirty blonde curls falling into his face during the procedure. Stiles immediately got it.

He'd just found two orphans.

. o O o .

Stiles woke up in the morning due to a modest pressure on his body. He could hear some words being said, and then came a frantic tug on his hair. He groaned and sank his head deeper into the pillow in an attempt to shut out his environment. He didn't succeed, apparently, because the other got even more impatient.

“Stiles, I want breakfast,” the tiny voice demanded, and Stiles had no choice but to turn around. While doing so, the little body on him was constantly shifting so it could stay put on him. Two legs were straddling his hips and Stiles rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands to try and get rid of the morning drowsiness. Another thing he didn't manage to do.

“Okay, just gimme a minute,” he said in a painful voice. If there was something he really hated, it was definitely having to get up early. He was a typical night owl, and he couldn't fall asleep before midnight even if he wanted to. A giggle came from somewhere above him and he let his hands drop down. All that he was capable of was returning the smile with a sleepy one on his own.

“Now!” The request was followed by a permanent pressure on Stiles' chest.

“Okay, okay, I'm awake, I'm up!” he chuckled as he sat up, causing the other on him to fall backwards and thus, land on his thighs that he had lifted just in time to catch the body without it having to fall too much. “What's the time anyway?” he asked, already looking around, searching for his cell phone.

“Six thirty-two,” came a response from the floor, right next to his bed. Stiles put the child down in favour of throwing his legs over the edge of the furniture and sitting there to stick his hands out and lift the other kid.

“Hey, Erica,” he cooed, sitting the girl on his knees. He rocked them up and down gently in a teasing play, earning a laugh in return. “Aren't you the most beautiful Princess, huh?” he rubbed his slightly upturned nose to the girl's, then continued whispering while holding the child's gaze with his own huge eyes with a ginger look in them. “How come you look so pretty even in the morning, huh? Now I officially envy you.”

“No be, Stiles,” she giggled and made grabbing motions in front of his face as if to show she wanted to touch his hair. Stiles had already been told by her that she loved how smooth and feather-soft hair he had. And who was Stiles to deny touching it from her when she enjoyed it so much?

He ducked his head lower and let Erica pet his hair with her tiny hands. When another two joined in, a laugh ripped out from Stiles.

“Hey, Isaac, you love doing it, too?”

No response came, the children just kept teasing his dark locks of hair.

They only let go of him after approximately three more minutes. After that, they headed to the kitchen and Stiles sat the two children at the table. He excused himself for one more minute to deal with the usual morning procedure that takes place in the bathroom, then joined the kids again. He served breakfast for all three of them, then washed the dishes and migrated back to his bedroom to change clothes.

He threw on a black T-shirt with Darth Vader's picture from Star Wars printed on it, along with a pair of light grey jeans and a flannel button-up shirt. (Star Wars is never going to be out of fashion, okay?) After he dealt with the rest of his duties in the bathroom—that also included spending a sad amount of time inspecting his five o'clock shadow, considering if he should shave or not—he put his hipster glasses on and hooked his messenger bag over his shoulder and spared one more minute to devote it to Isaac and Erica who were playing in the living room.

“Hey, peeps,” he spoke up. None of the kids paid attention, so he cleared his throat and that made the two to look up at him. “I can't come home earlier than 1 PM,” he said. Both of the children nodded in sync, which made Stiles crack a grin. “I don't want to be thrown for a loop when I get home, got it, guys?” Another nod came. “Cool,” he said, then opened his arms and cowered down. The youngsters didn't think even for a split second before taking their cue and running into his arms to take the offered hug. Stiles squeezed the two little bodies in his embrace—even though it was ten months now that the children were with him, he still felt the need to reassure them of his affection towards them to make sure they wouldn't think he will ditch them one day and throw them out of his apartment.

That was the last thing he wanted to do, after all.

He shrugged into his jacket then sent one kiss to each of the children before he stepped through the door and locked it behind himself. He hardly managed to catch the bus that took him to the metro station where he had to catch his connection to get to the university. During the time he had spent here, he got used to it and fell into a comfortable habit.

Stiles leaped off of the subway, ran up the stairs and made a beeline for the institution. Scott had already arrived; he was sitting on a bench with Allison next to him. The lovebirds were talking when Stiles approached them and greeted them with a wiggle of his fingers in a little wave with his hand that's thumb was hooked in the strap of his bag that crossed over his chest.

“Hey, Stiles,” Scott grinned at him. During the years he grew more handsome, and somehow his uneven jaw became his sex appeal, though back at high school he was bugged about it. “You got enough sleep at night?”

“Sure, dude,” he replied, also adding a grin as a reassurance of his well-being. “I couldn't be better.”

“How's Isaac and Erica?” Allison joined in.

“They are fine as well,” Stiles answered. “Couldn't be better, either.” He felt like it was a bit too much to repeat the same phrase, but it was still early in the morning and he had taken his Adderall just a short while ago, which apparently hadn't started to effect him yet, so his brain was practically still asleep.

“Tomorrow's full moon,” Scott reminded him. Stiles groaned and rubbed his face with his glove-covered palms frustratedly.

“I know, dude, no need to keep reminding me,” he raked his hand over his hair, but it only made it even messier and created the effect of a nest on his head. “Besides, Isaac doesn't have issues with full moons anymore.”

“I know, I'm just worried about you,” Scott stated. Okay, point taken there. He was officially the number one bro on the whole planetary (not that Stiles hadn't given this title to him already). Stiles acknowledged that answer with a nod before thumbing in the building's direction.

“You two coming? Five minutes left before the first lecture.”

Scott and Allison shared a look with each other before moving their eyes back at Stiles. They shook their heads and said they'd go a little while later. Stiles didn't blame them. They were obviously smitten with each other, so something as unimportant as a lesson wasn't worthy enough to be in the way of their undying love toward each other. Stiles left them there and headed to the lecture hall where he slid off his jacket and took out his notebook and numerous pens and pencils. If he learned anything during the years in high school then it's definitely that as his luck would have it, his pens would always give up when he's in the middle of writing down some important information.

At exactly one o'clock, he rushed out of the campus and hurried to catch the earliest subway he could take to get back to his apartment as soon as possible. Once in front of the front door of his flat, he fished out his set of keys from his bag with his hands shaking from jumpiness and tore it open impatiently. Whenever he got home, he always had a fear that something terrible had happened to the children while he was away, but he couldn't hire anyone to look after them—not because of the wage that he would have to pay, but because of the _kids_ ; they had had a hard time trusting Stiles, and Stiles didn't want to force them into anything they didn't want.

It took merely seven seconds for the first shape to appear, and that was all it took to Stiles to calm down. He collapsed onto his knees and welcomed Isaac in a warm hug, placing a chaste kiss on the little boy's forehead after brushing his curly blonde strands out of his face. Stiles had offered him to take him to the hairdressers' or for him to cut his hair, but Isaac kept turning down these bids, stating that his hair was best looking when it was fairly grown out. Stiles had discovered that Isaac was in love with his golden curls, and also that that was the reason behind his refusals.

“Where's Erica, sissy boy?” he cooed while his hands were petting Isaac. The boy pointed in the direction of Stiles' bedroom.

“Asleep.” Stiles nodded, then kissed Isaac's forehead once more before releasing him and shooting back up into a standing position.

“You hungry, big guy?” The boy's face lit up at hearing that question, and he nodded in frantic, impatient movements. Stiles laughed at it modestly, then waved for the child to follow him. Stiles cooked a quick lunch for him and while Isaac was eating happily, Stiles made some orange juice for the kids. He didn't put it in the fridge because they were bordering winter, and he was well aware that it was the healthier choice. He then checked the time, acknowledging that he had ten more minutes before having to leave again.

When those ten minutes were up, he put on his jacket again, but he didn't fail to remember to go and kiss Erica's cheek before leaving. The girl adjusted a little at the ghosting touch of Stiles' lips and rearranged her head on the soft pillow, then her body went back to completely unmoving. Stiles said his goodbyes to Isaac, too, then left his loft. It didn't strike him until then, that he forgot to pack food for himself. He cursed in his head and chided himself for being so oblivious, but he figured he'd just go and buy something for himself when he has some spare time during his shift.

When Stiles was going to his workplace, he only needed to take the subway, thankfully. He was glad he didn't have to rush for a connection whenever he went somewhere, but he needed to travel until the penultimate station, which was a way longer distance than the one in his mornings.

Once in the library, he checked in and made a beeline to his desk. He booted the computer and put his Criminology book in front of him. Stiles knew well he wouldn't be able to study earnestly at his _workplace_ , but he needed all the time on the world to learn what he had to. After all, he was busy even after his shift was done here.

Moreover, next day was Halloween, and of course the children were both jittery about it.

Stiles' co-worker arrived half an hour later. Her name was Olivia and she was a Literature major at another college. Today her straight blonde hair was tucked away from her face with a headband and the curls under her eyes easily gave away the fact she hadn't had enough sleep last night.

“Compulsory reading?” Stiles asked, pointing at her face.

“Yeah, and I have to write an essay about it,” she answered as she basically fell down onto her chair. She tidied her side of the desk that had been clean anyway, then dropped the said book on it with a loud exhale of air and a pained expression. She turned to Stiles. “What about you?”

“Same here,” he motioned toward the thick book sprawled out in front of him. She giggled nervously.

“Should have figured.” Stiles shrugged and leaned back in his chair in a stretch until the material resisted against his action with a loud creak. Even then, though, he remained in that position and let the blood to flow out of his arms a little, raising his blood pressure and enhancing his heartbeat slightly by this.

“Blame it on the sleep deprivation,” he offered as an excuse, then Olivia laughed again, this time with no tension involved.

Their shift went smoothly and monotonously, like it always did. People were passing through the door, some arriving and some leaving, and the rest of them was either sitting at a table, reading, or in front of a computer to search for the sign of a book or wandering amongst the aisles framed by shelves full of books. Stiles loved this place with the sometimes overwhelming scent of paper and ink, with the huge windows those were practically making the wall behind his and Olivia's back and showed the picturesque panorama of the bloodily setting Sun, this way dressing the whole area into a golden orange shade and stretching all the shadows in the spacious room.

It only differed when it was winter, because then the sky was always silver grey and the Sun was hidden behind clouds most of the time. The Sun giving the room a golden shade was a phenomenon that happened merely once in a blue moon during winter. Instead of that, though, they were given the stark opposite of this—the sight of white snowflakes dancing away in front of the glass with the dark sky as a background for it. However, that time hadn't come just yet, and the honey brown wood that the furnitures were made out of were gaining a more and more obvious vivid orange glow on their cornered edges and flat surfaces.

Nothing had happened during their shift until someone walked up to their desk. Both Stiles and Olivia were reading, so the individual had to clear his throat to get one of them's attention. Apparently, the one to look up was Stiles.

He blinked a few times, his long and messy jungle of lashes fanning over his cheeks as he fixed his glasses on his face. “Can I help you?”

“Do you have this book here?” the man asked, sliding a slip of paper in front of Stiles. He glanced at it and read the complicated handwriting before nodding.

“Gimme a minute, I'll just check it in the database,” he said, already clicking the mouse over the buttons on the screen, his eyes crisscrossing over it. It didn't take fifteen seconds and he was standing up, motioning for the man to follow. He submissively did as he was told, walking hot on Stiles' heels awhile. Stiles weaved his way through the various shelves and the occasional people who were standing there, soon approaching their destination. He remembered the sign of the book, and once he found it, he reached out for it. The whole scene ended up with Stiles blushing to the tip of his ears, though—he wasn't tall enough and he had to look for something to stand on for the sake of getting the book.

But before he could leave the scenario, the man extended his hands upwards, grabbed the spine of the book and pulled it out of its place with ease. He gave Stiles a look that was smug just by a little more than it should have been, before grunting out a gruff, “Thanks.”

Stiles nodded and readjusted his glasses, something that he did quite often, especially when he was embarrassed. Despite the man's slightly douche-y behaviour, he offered a smile anyway.

“You're welcome,” he turned around in order to walk back to his rightful place behind the computer screen. He didn't add 'anything for members', no matter how much he wanted to. He knew better than to offend anyone, because it could have easily resulted in him being expelled, and he couldn't afford such a luxury for himself. He needed the money, and now not only for himself, but for the kids as well. _And also for the costumes for Halloween._ He was a little surprised to find the man tagging along. Once he was sat again, he rolled close to the desk and leaned forward, propping his weight on his forearms, then looked up at Mr. Not Quite A Jerk But Definitely Close To It with wide, curious eyes.

“I want to borrow it,” came the easy and obvious explanation. Stiles should have known, he chided himself, this is a library after all, where people come to search for a book _and_ borrow it.

“Can I have your card, please?” he held his hand out for it. When the plastic-covered card was placed in his palm, he moved it in front of his face. The name tag read 'Derek Hale'. Stiles had to admit, it was a perfectly suitable name for such a hunky man. He dealt with the short procedure of loaning, then handed back both the book and his card to Derek. Their fingers brushed for a moment and Stiles shivered at that, but he would swear to God he didn't feel anything. No. He wasn't the type to believe any nonsense that only existed in cheesy romantic stories.

There was no such thing as love at first sight.

If there was, it would work out, it would be mutual and thus, the man—Derek—would have felt it, too. And he definitely wouldn't have left just like that without so much as sparing one more glance at Stiles over his shoulder.

Love at first sight didn't exist, apparently.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles hopped on the subway once his last lecture was over for that day. He went to the custom store, checking the time on his watch while moving forward, ignoring how some people bumped into him. Once inside, he made a beeline for the cash register and joined in to the queue. While standing there, waiting for his turn, he grabbed his bag and fished out the papers those confirmed that he had four costumes saved for him. He let his amber eyes to roam over the place—it was nice, and exceptionally huge. Numerous varieties of costumes were hanging and laying on the shelves, the walls were painted with every possible colour that existed and there was a separate section with a tiny comic store.

“It's your turn,” came a voice. It snapped Stiles out from his daydream and he automatically shoved the papers in front of the girl whose body was dressed in a devil costume. She took them and moved backwards while reading the words written on them. Stiles drummed his fingers on the table until the worker got back with two big pockets. Stiles paid for the clothes and left the place. He still had a lot of things to do.

His next station was the store. He bought three pockets of candy, then migrated to the subterranean public transport again, this time for the sake of getting home at last. When he opened the door of the flat, eerie silence welcomed him. One of his eyebrows shot up as he closed the door and placed the pockets down in the foyer.

“Hey, Erica, Isaac, I'm home,” he said, hoping for something, _anything_ to happen. The jumpiness started to well up in him when no response came. His heart rate picked up and he swallowed hard against a newly-formed lump in his throat. Fuck, he should have invested in hiring a sitter. If he finds everything all right this time his first task is to search for a sitter that both the kids like. Maybe something terrible happened while he was away, maybe the children were kidnapped, maybe there was a fire somewhere, maybe they fell down from somewhere, maybe they cut themselves, maybe the—

“Got ya!” yelled Isaac, jumping into Stiles' neck from behind, cutting off his thrilling train of thoughts and almost knocking his glasses down from his face. Stiles' hands instinctively flew up and grabbed the child's forearms those were wrapped tightly around his neck. The next thing he felt was a modest squeeze at his legs and he saw as Erica hugged his shins with a mischievous grin on her face.

“Happy nigh' o' mischief!” she chirped and giggled bright and happy. Stiles exhaled a breath he hadn't noticed he was holding. Erica let go of him and he collapsed onto his butt.

“Oh my God, you two have no idea how much you scared me,” he said, discovering that his voice was shaking. The kids laughed with their heads tilted back and hands resting over their bellies. Stiles couldn't be angry at them for too long. The second he opened up his arms, Isaac climbed down from his back and ran forward to join Erica in Stiles' embrace. He nuzzled his cheeks into the children's hair with a content smile on his face. “I'm home, sweets.”

“You bring costumes?” asked Isaac, who was squirming to fit even closer to Stiles, which was fairly impossible unless he wanted to join the teenager's guts amidst his ribs. Stiles laughed almost hysterically at that question—he'd just got over the deathly shock, and the kids were already worried about the _costumes_.

“I did,” answered Stiles and reached to his right side to grab the pocket that had Erica and Isaac's costume in it. “Here ya go, my darlings.”

The two youngsters squealed blissfully and ran off to change clothes. Stiles shook his head with a fond smile on his face before he stood and headed to the kitchen. He dropped his messenger bag on one of the chairs, then approached the pumpkin he had bought the previous day. If it were up to him, he wouldn't have decided to make a Halloween pumpkin, but the children were insistent and he didn't want to deny anything from them. He figured enough had been taken away from the two little souls.

Stiles grabbed a knife to begin the adzing process, however, before he could do so much as pointing the tip of the knife toward the pumpkin, a voice came from somewhere near the entrance of the kitchen.

“No, Stiles, you need to be dressed to do that!” Isaac came to him quickly, already tugging on his jeans to prevent him from cutting. Stiles chuckled and lifted up the tiny body delicately, and sat it on his cradled arm. Isaac was heavier now than he had been at the dawn of their acquaintance, but since he loved it when Stiles lifted him up like this, Stiles didn't quit to do it.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled, nuzzling his nose into Isaac's collarbone. “Let me see you,” he said, putting some distance between the boy and himself to be able to inspect him in the costume. “Oh look at you! You're the most perfect Luke Skywalker I've ever seen!”

“Really?” Isaac keened as his eyes lit up happily. Stiles nodded as a reassurance then looked around in exaggerated movements.

“And where is our Leia?” Isaac push-pulled himself out from among Stiles' arms and leaped easily to the floor. “Mind showing me where your sister is, Luke?” Stiles asked dramatically. Apparently, Isaac enjoyed the act; he raised his tiny chin a little and nodded gracefully to Stiles.

“This way,” he said, and took off towards Stiles' bedroom. The kids had a serious fixation with his room, being the two of them were always there—especially when he was away—, but he didn't mind it. More so, he was happy to know that they missed him and loved him. “Princess Leia, you have a visitor.”

“Oh my God, you look amazing!” Stiles complimented decently as he lowered to sit on his calves. Erica ran into his arms and sat her tiny body on his lap, snuggling into his clothes. “Do you mind if I braid your hair, your majesty?”

“No mind,” she sang excitedly. Stiles laughed at it, then turned his head to look at Isaac.

“May I ask you to bring me a hairbrush, Luke?” he asked politely. The blonde boy shook his head absentmindedly.

“No need to ask it like that,” he said. Of course, Stiles immediately understood what he meant by that, but he liked to make the two children feel clever and wanted them to confide in their knowledge, so he ended up asking him.

“Why not?”

“'Cause you're our dad, obviously! You know it, too. You love Star Wars.”

“That's true, buddy,” Stiles responded with a nod. “Want me to change clothes before anything, sweets?” he looked back and forth between the two kids, his eyes commuting constantly. They shared a look before bursting out a 'yes'. “Okay, okay, let me change into my costume, too.”

He gently shooed Erica out of his lap, then stood and headed back to the foyer where a pocket was still awaiting. He picked it up and migrated to the living room to change into his Darth Vader costume. Stiles had had the children to watch Star Wars with him a long while ago, and since they were in love with the series almost as much as he was, they had practically _begged_ for Stiles to get their disguises for Halloween. Isaac and Erica had recognized the potential the film had within, and had told him they wanted to dress up like the Skywalker family immediately. And Stiles had promised to get their costumes.

When he entered his bedroom the picture of Isaac meekly brushing Erica's hair welcomed him, and he couldn't help but crack a fond smile at the scene. It was probably one of the most adorable things he'd ever seen. He almost didn't even want to join in so he wouldn't disturb them and could gaze them just a little longer, but apparently the children had other thoughts in this matter.

“Stiles, come!” Erica demanded, extending both of her arms towards him and making grabbing movements, indicating she wanted to touch Stiles. He bridged the distance between him and the kids and sat down cross-legged, sending a smile over to Isaac to thank him for brushing the girl's hair beforehand. Erica put herself into Stiles' lap and waited for him to braid her hair with a constant smile shining on her little lips.

Stiles fixed his glasses before reaching out and raking his fingers through the curly blonde strands of hair. Stiles had never been good at playing feminine things, but he was willing to do anything to make Erica's hair as perfect as he possibly could.

. o O o .

Stiles adzed the pumpkin—the children demanded it should have some reference to the three of them, so he ended up etching their names in it with clumsy, angular letters. He placed a candle in it, but didn't light it; they were about to leave, and the last thing he wanted was to leave a lit candle here without any supervision. He promised the kids, though, to light it later. Stiles also wrote a note which read ' _Not at home due to candy-collecting duties. Left here some sweets, so help yourself! Happy Halloween! xoxo_ ' and after they left the loft, he stuck it on the door and placed the three pockets of candy he had bought in the store this afternoon at the welcome mat.

Stiles scooped up both Isaac and Erica, then carefully walked down the stairs with them sitting on his forearms. He didn't have a pocket to collect the sweets in, but he didn't even want one—he figured it was the children's, and not a nineteen-year-old's duty to do that. He put down Isaac at the end of the stairs and reached down with his hand to let the boy hold it with his own tiny paw.

The air was the slightest bit chilly. With all the layers of clothings on them it didn't even matter at all. The sky had already darkened completely and the pavement was dotted by golden leafs those had fallen from the branches of the trees stretching above the streets, tangling together with the street lights. The trees were almost ultimately bare by now.

Isaac held onto Stiles' hand like his life depended on it, and scooted as close to the teenager's body as possible. Stiles could sense the thick worry that radiated from the wee boy next to him. His throat tightened at the memory of him standing there in the dark impasse, holding Erica protectively to his body. At first Stiles had doubted that Isaac was capable of looking after the girl, but he had no doubts since he had learned that Isaac was a werewolf kid.

The first three full moons had been beyond horrifying. Stiles had had a really hard time dealing with Isaac. He had given bells to Scott and thankfully he had volunteered to stay overnight at each three cases to help Stiles handle the supernatural part of Isaac. Scott had slowly managed to explain to Isaac how he could control his shift during the full moon, and since the kid was a willing participant, it had been easy for Scott to teach him how to do it.

It turned out it was all about focusing on something—something that is important for him and means a lot to him. That is called an Anchor. Stiles had thought Isaac's would be one of his parents or Erica, but the definitely hadn't been prepared to face the truth which was _him_ being little Isaac's Anchor. He was as happy as he could be, nonetheless.

In the end, Stiles ended up scooping up Isaac again. He figured the streets were too busy and he didn't want to risk his paw being batted away from his hand accidentally. He knew Isaac would be able to track him down by scent alone, but chasing down someone was easier for an adult than for a four-year-old.

He had made an arrangement to meet Allison and Scott at town. As it turned out, they had invited one of their friends, Kira.

“Hey, guys,” Stiles greeted them with a lopsided smile. He put down both of the children, who immediately clang onto his black robe with tightly clenched fists. The only person they trusted enough besides Stiles was Scott; Isaac trusted him because he had helped him with his control, and Erica trusted him because she trusted Isaac's trust. They were also more or less relaxed around Allison, too, but turned extremely wary when a stranger showed up. Whenever that happened they found their shelter in Stiles' personal space.

“Stiles, this is Kira Yukimura,” Scott said, gesturing in the girl's direction with a vague movement of his hand. Stiles' eyes moved from his friend and found the girl. “She's a Japanese culture major.”

“Nice to meet you,” Stiles nodded and accepted the hand that Kira had stuck out before. “Stiles Stilinski.”

“Kira Yukimura,” she introduced herself even though Scott had already said her name. “Pleasure's mine.” They shook hands briefly before letting go of each other. Kira looked down at the kids. She offered a smile to them and crouched down, reaching out with a hand to stroke one of their hair, but Erica began sobbing and hid her face in Stiles' dark clothing, while Scott shook his head in a warning to prevent Isaac from flashing his eyes at Kira. Despite his order, his eyes did flash up in a vivid ruby red colour as if to remind Isaac about him being an _Alpha_.

When Isaac looked up at Stiles, his gaze held a great amount of despair and was confused by a lot. Stiles clenched his lips, the instinct to protect welling up inside him. No matter how much of a jerk he felt afterwards, he cowered and closed both kids into his safe embrace, conveying the obvious message to Kira that said, ' _don't touch them_ '. It had taken Stiles almost a month until they weren't protesting against his touches. Before that happened, bathes had been straight up Hell.

Kira looked clearly offended, but she managed to force a smile on her face anyway. Stiles felt the need to explain.

“Sorry, they are just... not quite good with strangers,” he paid extra attention to make sure his sentence came out as affirmative and not a question. He wanted to be convincing, not confusing after all.

“So, where do you want to go first?” asked Allison, and Stiles couldn't have been more grateful. She was an actual angel, he was sure about it, and Scott deserved her. Apparently Allison's attempt to break the tension worked (or Kira was a great actor), because after that Kira was all carefree smiles and they took off for the conventional candy hunt.

. o O o .

“Why are you wearing the same clothes?” asked Erica, her eyes fixed at Allison. Stiles was glad that she was opening up a little. Also, probably it was a great choice for her to interact with other females. (Stiles sucked at girls' stuff.)

“The students in our school decided to have a dress code,” she smiled down at the blonde child. She didn't dare to make an attempt to get physically closer, the reaction Kira had gotten still vividly waltzing in her mind.

“Dress code?” she asked in a tiny voice. Allison nodded, still loaded up with dimples. Scott was always high on them. Allison glanced at Stiles with an unasked question glittering in her brown eyes. He bit his bottom lip, then hardly noticeably lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. Allison decided to take the shot and go for the kill. She slowly crouched down and Stiles could feel Erica's fingers curling lightly tighter around his hand unconsciously.

“It is something that determines what you can wear on an occasion.”

“And what yours?”

“It's Harry Potter,” Allison replied, standing up again in favour of showing her costume—it was a girls' Gryffindor uniform. She spun around once and Erica was ogling her in an awe with sparkling eyes. Maybe the way Allison's long locks of wavy hair flew or the way the mini skirt and robe followed the movements of her body were that stunned Erica so much. Stiles didn't know, but he was happy to see Erica admiring someone besides him.

Maybe it was a great chance for her to trust somebody by her own will and based on her own gut instincts.

. o O o .

Their group was sitting in a café. They chose a corner table at a hidden part of the place where they could sit in comfortable silence. The kids wanted a slice of pumpkin cake—they were also given a marzipan pumpkin on top of them which caused them to be on cloud nine—while the rest of the group stuck with a cup of steaming coffee or, in Stiles' case, hot chocolate.

“If you have a dress code, then why isn't Stiles in Harry Potter clothes?” Isaac asked as he was adorably munching on a piece of cake, his large lashes fluttering over his gorgeous blue eyes while he was staring up at Scott. The teen wolf couldn't fight the wide grin on his face.

“Well,” he began, sparing a quick look at Stiles before going on, “he wanted to make you guys happy. Later he will change into his Harry Potter disguise, though.” Stiles smiled at him from behind the rim of his cup, then, as a reassurance, nodded at his friend.

“Oooh,” Isaac keened and looked at Stiles with sparkling eyes. Apparently his affection toward his impromptu father had just been increased by a lot.

“Love Stiles!” Erica exclaimed and made grabbing motions in the teenager's direction. He didn't fail to reach out for the wee girl and sit her in his lap. Kira was ogling the occurrences with a hint of a faint smile on her face.

Scott and Allison both had a Gryffindor uniform on them, and Stiles had no doubts that their couple would have been sorted into that house if they were to live in an alternate universe. As for Kira, she was wearing one in Hufflepuff's colours.

“Do you want to continue the hunt?” Stiles cooed into Erica's ear. She was too busy fitting a mouthful of cake into her tiny mouth, but at the question the procedure was cut in half and her body froze. She looked across at Isaac with a clueless gaze. Instead of a verbal answer, a yawn erupted from his little being as an answer. The grown-ups at the table chuckled at that. “I guess I'll just take you two home, then.”

The children didn't protest, however, they changed to finish up their cakes in a painfully slow motion, obviously not willing to be apart from Stiles.

When they were ready, they went on Dutch before trekking back to Stiles' flat. Since Stiles didn't want anyone to know about the kids—especially his Dad—they lied to Kira that they were Stiles' cousin's sister's children and she was on a business trip so the peeps stayed with him for a while. The Japanese girl seemed sceptical about it, but she didn't say anything.

Isaac and Erica were both insistent on sleeping in Stiles' bed, so the boy laid them down on it and tugged the blanket over them, making sure to tuck the sheet tightly around them so no cold was allowed inside. Isaac instinctively wrapped a hand around Erica, while the girl rested her forehead against little Isaac's chest. Their breathing evened out in no time, indicating they were already in a tight slumber, so by the time Stiles finished changing clothes, the four of them could leave with no resistance. Scott teased Stiles about settling with a Slytherin uniform, but Stiles merely adjusted his glasses and said it wasn't just the house of evildoers and that it fitted his personality.

Stiles planted a meek kiss on the children's rosy cheeks, made sure that he closed the front door carefully, then followed the other three individuals down the stairs and back to the autumn chill. The pupils of their university had arranged to meet at a local club, that was thankfully not too far away from Stiles' flat, so he could come home easily if something happened. He wouldn't even have to use any kind of public transport.

In less than twenty-five minutes, their group arrived to the club. Even before entering, they could hear the loud music being played inside. Darkness welcomed them in there, which was cut off by harsh lines of rainbow-coloured lights, illuminating spots of lights and others. A waist-high cloud of fog was sneaking at the bottom of the place and the huge, sweaty crowd of people was dancing at the middle, apparently ignoring how they were constantly bumping into each other.

Ten seconds after their arrival, a girl appeared in front of them and offered a small cup of strong alcohol to all of them. Stiles refused, but excluding him, everyone accepted and drank their shots. Stiles didn't want to get drunk, fearing what he would do or how he would behave around the children. He didn't want to risk losing them by frighting them away. Or worse.

He quickly waved this thought out of his head and tried to focus on something else. Destiny was on his side, apparently, because soon he glimpsed a familiar shape at the other side of the room. Blue and red lights glowed vividly on leather jacket-covered broad shoulders, and Stiles could exquisitely remember certain Derek Hale's backside, whom Stiles saw mostly from behind and could inspect his lines carefully when he wasn't facing him—when he was leaving the library the other day.

Before Stiles could consider it twice, he started to hurtle his way over to the guy.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles' big idea about going there and casually talking to Derek quickly evaporated from his mind when he was _actually_ near him. Apparently it was a good and fairly easy idea hypothetically, but not technically. It would have taken two steps and reaching out with his arm to get Derek's attention, but he couldn't bring himself to do it, somehow. He clenched both of his hands into fists, anxious and angry at his discourage with his eyes darted viciously at the ground in a murderous gaze. He muttered some curses under his breath before moving to turn around.

He walked away in defeat, not wasting his time for even one glance over his shoulder at the guy anymore.

Stiles rejoined Scott and Allison at a table along the wall of the club. Kira was away this time, on the dancefloor, with a girl whose name Stiles had learned was Malia. He turned his face back to his friends, who were both smirking at him knowingly. He swallowed, already being aware that they had seen his previous desperate struggle. He exhaled and propped his chin on his hand while he was doodling haphazard figures on the dark surface of the table with his index finger. There were numerous lines and words etched into it, along with some paints dotting it.

“Nothing. It's... nothing,” he managed, his voice swallowed up by the loud music. Scott was blessed with sophisticated hearing, though, saving Stiles from having to repeat himself.

“Where'd you meet him?” asked Allison. Her jugular vein turned available, since she had to yell to make her question audible for Stiles, too. She was articulating in exorbitant movements nevertheless, to make sure her question is conveyed flawlessly. Stiles shrugged, aware of the fact that his face was heating up. He was sure even the tip of his ears were bright red, however, thanks to the dim lighting of the place, this fact remained hidden from the lovebirds who were sitting at the opposite side of the table.

“At the library,” Stiles responded. He didn't dare look up from the etched writing on the table that read 'Michael + Claire 4ever', it framed by and contained in a big heart. He scraped his nail absentmindedly in the valley that made the letters.

“And?” Scott urged with widened eyes, obviously hungry for more information. Stiles groaned.

“Like I said— _nothing_ happened!” he moaned. “He just loaned a book, and that's it. That's the story. All of it.” His eyebrows furrowed, his leg constantly bouncing up and down against the ground, and Scott realized it was better not to push the subject too much.

“Do you at least know his name?” Allison asked. At that, Stiles did look up, but only for the sake of shooting a glare at the girl. “It's not necessarily a lost case,” she pointed out. Well, it _was_ a lost case in Stiles' opinion. “You can just go and talk to him. If he sees the real you under the babbling surface, he'll like you. If he doesn't, then he obviously doesn't deserve you.”

Her words felt really good to Stiles, but he was still unable to bring himself to stand and talk to Derek. Probably because he feared the stark, ruthless truth of Allison's undoubtedly rational statement. Or because he was too annoying to people, and he tired them out and made them loose all their patience before they would get to know the real him. That's what happened all the time. He answered to Allison, though.

“Derek,” he said. Allison frowned.

“What?”

“Derek,” Stiles repeated, and looked her in the eye. “His name is Derek.”

. o O o .

Approximately two hours later Stiles had two beers contained in his stomach. He felt the tiniest bit tipsy, but nothing serious. He was still conscious of himself, since so little amount of alcohol wouldn't affect him under any circumstances. This much only encouraged him and boosted his non-existent self-confidence.

He was dancing among the many people around him. His gown had started to bug him, because with that on, too, there were just too many layers of clothes on him. He could feel that the white button-up shirt he was wearing was sticking to his moist body uncomfortably, and the grey knitted sleeveless shirt on it wasn't helping him with this issue at all.

Being true to himself, he very ably managed to trip over his own leg and stumble away by a few feet, nearly landing face-first on the ground, but he was grabbed by a strong arm wrapped around his chest. His breath hitched in his chest at the sudden impact, his mouth opening in a mute scream. Another hand joined the other on his body, it being put on his hip to help him up. Stiles reached out blindly and held onto the individual, who—

His hands came to touch a soft, yet rigid material. Stiles' eyes shot open and he tucked his head in the direction of the other person only to be horrified to see _Derek fucking Hale_ standing tall next to him, gazing his flushed face with a deadpan one. The only thing Stiles was capable of doing besides gaping was repeating 'fuckfuckfuck' in his head all over again.

“Um,” he blurted eventually, letting loose his clutch on Derek's jacket so fast as if it had burned his palm. He flailed his hands around, one of them unconsciously fixing his glasses, pushing the frame upper to the bridge of his nose. “I'm sorry, I didn't see you. I kinda have this tendency of not being able to control my limbs, you know, so,” he trailed off and sank his front teeth into the pink flesh of his full bottom lip. Probably it was better to shut himself.

Not that it wasn't screwed up already.

Derek just shook his head in small, modest movements before inspecting Stiles' whole appearance by roaming his pale green eyes up and down on his slender body.

“Maybe you should take a break,” he suggested, and Stiles couldn't not agree with that. He nodded frantically and adjusted his glasses again before thumbing over his shoulder in the direction of the bar.

“Yeah, I'm... I'm going. I better go,” he mumbled and spun around on his heels, determined to make a beeline for the—

Shit. Shit shit _shit_.

He had thought he had been pointing at the _tables_ , not the bar. He didn't want to drink any more, he had had enough tonight already. He was just about to change his way to actually go and target one of the tables, but he was beaten to it by Derek. He recognized that the man joined him, walking on his side while keeping a close eye on him. Stiles didn't get it.

Apparently Derek must have recognized his insecurity, because the next moment he was explaining. He leaned impossibly close to Stiles. Of course, it was just for the sake of making sure Stiles heard everything that Derek had to say crystal clear, but it didn't change the reaction Stiles gave to it, that involved pulse rising and blushing cheeks yet again.

“Just making sure you actually get there,” was what Derek offered as a whys. Stiles felt like that was an evasive answer, but he went with it anyway. Derek seeing him to the bar?—definitely working for him.

He slumped clumsily onto one of the tall bar chairs and gave a lopsided smile to the bartender as a greeting, fluttering his fingers in a wave as both of his forearms were reclined on the surface of the high bar. What threw him for a loop was that Derek took the seat next to his on his right, and he couldn't fool anyone by lying he wasn't chuffed to bits by that. He would probably need a thesaurus to search for various expressions that he could use to interpret just _how_ happy he felt exactly.

“So,” he spoke up in a desperate attempt to build up an actual conversation. Derek nodded to the bartender guy and soon two glasses were slid in front of the two of them. “I'm not drinking,” Stiles protested immediately. Derek raised a judgemental eyebrow at him, but didn't say anything. All of the oxygen bled out of Stiles' lungs abruptly. “I mean—I've already drunk a fair amount I guess. I didn't plan on getting wasted.” To his biggest relief, Derek cracked a smile at that.

“Yeah, I can see why,” he commented. Sarcasm was radiating from his words, obviously meaning Stiles' incident on the dancefloor from a while ago. Stiles gifted the man with a lopsided smile in return before his eyes transited at his hands and his long fingers started to play with his clothes.

Which reminded him that he had wanted to take off his cloak.

While he was doing so, Derek made himself comfortable on his bar chair and scooted slightly closer to Stiles, nursing his shot between his huge hands. Stiles laid the gown in his lap and put his arms back into their previous position only to be puzzled by the fact that now his and Derek's upper arms were touching. He couldn't help the enhanced pace of his heart.

“You wanted to say something,” Derek pointed out, dragging Stiles out from his blissful daydream and realization. The teenager shook his head and looked at Derek.

“What?” he blurted.

“You were about to say something,” Derek parroted and Stiles made an 'ah' sound in favour of informing Derek he got the hint.

“Oh yeah, I was, wasn't I?” he started. Instead of making a comment or two at Stiles' perplexity, Derek raised the glass to his mouth and flooded it with the burningly aching alcohol. To Stiles' horror, he held it there for a handful of moments to taste it while tossing it back and forth with his tongue. A chill ran down Stiles' spine at the thought of how that must have felt. (Let's just say keeping something at least nearly as strong as vodka in your mouth isn't on 'The Most Pleasant Things On The World' list.) “I just wanted to ask if you've already started reading the book you borrowed,” he asked after he was over the first shocks in hopes it wasn't too creepy for him to remember Derek.

Apparently it wasn't.

“I have,” came the answer. Stiles was already opening his mouth to ask if Derek liked the book, but he was beaten to it. “I like it, actually. I haven't read anything like that before, but I was surprised that it can be this interesting. I'm amused.”

“What is it that you borrowed, exactly?” Of course, Stiles remembered it, but he really didn't want to appear as a total creep nor a stalker, for that matter. Because he wasn't one, definitely not. He had seen Derek for the first time yesterday, and a tiny little harmless—probably platonic—interest from his side was nowhere close to stalking. If anything, he didn't want to scare Derek away before so much as introducing himself to the guy.

“Criminal minds,” Derek said. “It's a psychological writing about why people turn evil. Have you read it yet?” Stiles nodded.

“Sure. It's kinda connected to my major, but I'm interested in these anyway. I had read it even before I got admitted to the university here.” Derek's gorgeously characteristic eyebrows furrowed.

“What's your major?” Stiles quickly took control of the rush of excitement that overwhelmed him at the very second Derek asked him. It clearly meant that Derek was interested. Such an exquisiteness was interested in _him_. Was this even his life?

“Criminology,” he said, swatting down the sudden feel of guilt inside him. He would have time for his misery later. Now he had to save his mind for Derek, not for his pitiful life. The man acknowledged that answer with a small nod, turning the glass on the surface of the bar with his thumb, index and middle fingers. Stiles felt like something wasn't right, so he was urged to ask, his question erupting from him without the slightest hint of resistance. “What's the problem?”

Derek shook his head before he looked away, giving Stiles a great opportunity to ogle his profile which was _also perfect_. He covered his mouth with a hand, but that was too late to hide the curling corner of his lips from Stiles, slowly forming a smile. He dropped his head down, now letting the grin to break out on his face. He chuckled silently, apparently at himself, before darting his gaze back at Stiles.

“I just thought you were a senior, not a university student,” he admitted. Stiles' jaw fell and he gave Derek a disbelieving expression.

“Why? I'm not in high school anymore! It's evident! As clear as the Sun!” he exclaimed while his hands were flailing everywhere in haphazard directions. Derek laughed out loud at his passionate reaction, head bent backwards and full on teeth. It made Stiles' heart flutter and resurrected the butterflies in his stomach. If someone found him witty, it was a good start.

“Okay, sure,” Derek shrugged, then took another shot from his drink. Thankfully, this time he gulped it instantly. “Why'd you choose to be a Criminology major? Wanna become a cop?”

“Investigator, actually,” Stiles corrected. “My Dad is the Sheriff of Beacon County and I have always been fascinated by his job. I was in love with the idea of mysteries, of solving them, of going on patrols and assessing a crime scene. At first it was just about my need to be around my Dad, though. When I was a kid, my dream was to work with him. Now I know that wouldn't be manageable,” he lifted a shoulder and busied himself with doodling imaginary circles on the bar. He didn't want to say any more in this topic.

Derek proved to have great skills at inspecting emotions, because he changed the topic out of the blue; he reached his right hand over to Stiles and said, “I haven't introduced myself. I'm Derek Hale.”

Stiles accepted the hand immediately, but he also made sure not to appear to be too eager for it, even though he was.

“Stiles Stilinski.”

Derek gave him a small smile and squeezed his hand modestly before releasing it and turning back to face forward again. He touched the glass in front of him and finished it with one more shot from it. Stiles had no idea what he was drinking exactly, but he didn't really want to know it.

“Do you know the series?” he asked after a silence that felt to had lasted for ages. Derek's head perked up and looked at him with a confused facial expression, clearly not catching up to what Stiles was talking about. He quickly added as an explanation, “The Criminal Minds series. The book you're reading has the same title, and I was wondering if—”

“I do,” Derek interjected and the teenager blinked at him. “I know it. I haven't seen all of it, though, just some random episodes.”

“Did you like it?” Derek seemed to be considering his answer. His pale eyes found the shelves behind the bartender's back, on the wall across from them on the other side of the narrow space the guy had to serve the drinks. There were numerous varieties of glittering glass bottles, filled with alcohol-contained drinks and some juices and cokes that the boy could use to mix the alcohols with if the customers wished for it.

“I did,” Derek ended up answering. “I liked it because it was a bit more realistic than the ones nowadays. I mean, they seriously put effort into depicting the corpses or tortures,” his eyes flashed at Stiles, filled with fright, as if he'd just realized he had confessed his deepest, darkest and most macabre secret. His jaw fell and he gaped for one or two seconds before finding his voice again. “I mean—I'm sure it must have sounded like I was addicted to blood and stuff, but—” Stiles shook his head and put his hand up to stop Derek's babbling.

“No, it's okay. I get it. I'm a Criminology major after all,” he said, grinning cheekily. “I got excited whenever I saw a dead body. I—I don't know, I just find it genuinely interesting? I was called a freak for finding it intriguing, but I couldn't help my inquisitiveness. I was a curious child and it hasn't changed. I'm still looking forward to being face to face with a dead person, as morbid as that sounds.” By the time he finished, Derek's features had completely let go of all of the tension that had been present in him. Stiles gave him another smile before glancing down at his watch. “Oh shit!”

He looked at Derek with his mouth hanging open and with an apologetic sparkle in his whiskey eyes.

“What happened?”

“I need to go,” Stiles stated, and before Derek could react in any way, he hopped down from the bar chair. Derek followed suit, also jumping to the ground, his gaze never leaving Stiles' shape.

“Is it something important?” Stiles finally met his eyes. His lips closed and he nodded, giving his answer with an honest ring to his tone.

“Very,” was all that he said. Derek clenched his jaw so strong Stiles noticed a nerve jumping constantly up and down in the area of the man's temple. It hadn't occurred to Stiles up until now that how this whole thing must have sounded like to Derek. His brain started to work frantically, running a mile a minute to figure something out that he could explain Derek why he needed to leave now without actually telling the truth.

But Derek beat him to it yet again.

“Want a ride?” Stiles considered the question. If it had been an ordinary situation, he would have already yelled yes—but it wasn't a usual scenario, and he had two wee peers waiting for him in his apartment, and these offers had a tendency to end up with sleepovers involved. Soundly, loud, sweaty, hot sleepovers.

He shook his head.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” he offered a smile to make his refusal a bit more delicate. He wanted everything but turning down Derek's offer. “See you around, then?”

“Yeah,” Derek jerked his head in a nod. He opened his mouth to add something else, however, this was Stiles' turn to be first in doing something; he quickly said goodbye to him and turned around on his heels, making a beeline for the entrance while weaving and hurtling his way through the thick crowd of damp people.

Stiles slid back into the black cloak of his costume and stepped into the cold night. His body immediately shook due to jolts of chills shocking all over his nerves. Having to stand in a temperature around 10 Celsius degrees with a heated, sweaty body wasn't the most pleasuring thing to experience. And he still had to walk for about twenty-five minutes to get home.

In the end, that certain 'walk' turned out to be 'running' all the way back to his flat. He threw off all of his clothes, took a bath and wrote a text message to Scott to inform him that he had left the club. He was still overall dripping water with a towel loosely wrapped around his hips when he entered the kitchen to eat at least a little to make sure he wouldn't get a nausea in the morning. For a fact, he hadn't drunk much, but his body reacted to alcohol sensitively and he didn't want to risk vomiting.

Stiles had got a reply from Scott before he migrated to his bed. He scooted close to the children carefully, making sure he won't wake the two, and scooped their tiny bodies into his embrace. He nuzzled his cheek into their hair with a content smile adorning his face, soon being lulled asleep by Erica and Isaac's even breathing.


	4. Chapter 4

When Stiles woke up the next morning, he found himself being tangled with the children's limbs. They were sprawled out all over him and one of them was breathing into the crook of his neck while the other onto his chest. He suppressed a smile before carefully putting away the two and sneaking out of his bedroom. He went straightly to the bathroom, got rid of his five o'clock shadow, then headed to the kitchen to begin the preparations of breakfast.

As soon as the toast and the bacon was cooked, Isaac and Erica appeared at the entrance of the kitchen, rubbing their sleepy, half-closed eyes while stumbling inside. Erica yawned and Isaac climbed onto one of the chairs and squirmed then a bit to make himself comfortable.

“Hey, Princess,” Stiles cooed when Erica grabbed a handful of his light blue pyjama pants. He put away the spatula and descended to be levelled out with the wee girl. He picked up the little body before sitting it on his forearm. He went back to tossing the food around in the pan, but didn't fail to also place an affectionate kiss on the child's soft cheek. “What do you want? Cocoa or orange juice?” he asked both kids, however, he didn't look up, just kept his eyes darted at the skillet in front of him.

“Orange juice!” “Cocoa!” came the two different answers at the exact same time. Stiles couldn't help his laughter, full of shaking shoulders.

“Okay, peeps, I'm on it,” he hummed in a sweet voice. He switched off the stove and took Erica to the table as well. He put her on the seat next to Isaac's, then went for the cupboard to grab three plates and set the table. He served the food, too, then left again to make the desired drinks for the children. Once they were ready as well, he himself sat down at the table and put the shares of food on their plates.

After having breakfast, Stiles dressed Isaac and Erica, making sure to tug their knitted hats low, and their scarves tight, so they wouldn't be freezing outdoors. Today Stiles had a full shift at the library, and since he didn't want to leave the kids alone at home for an entire day, he decided to take them with himself to his workplace.

The way there passed fast—Stiles had the kids sat on his thighs the entire time that they spent on the subway, and when they arrived to their destination, he scooped them up and leaped off of the public transport. They made a beeline for the library, where Stiles put the little youngsters to the children's place. There was an area in the institution full of colourful books, toys and plushes created for the young peers such as Stiles' Erica and Isaac, and it was supervised by a kind woman.

“Hey, Jane,” Stiles greeted her with a wide smile. The woman was in her mid-forties, and she was reading a book when the three of them showed up. Jane gave a matching smile in return to the boy, before focusing her attention on the kids. It wasn't the first time she'd seen them, however, she hadn't yet been granted their trust.

“Morning, Stiles,” she said, then looked back down at the kids. “Erica, Isaac,” she finished. They gave a shy nod as Isaac instinctively grabbed Erica's hand and gently pulled her closer to himself for the sake of protecting her.

“You don't mind, right?” he asked, unwrapping his scarf from around his neck. Jane shook her head and waved.

“You're kidding, right? Of course, not! Leave them here, I'll give you a call if you're needed,” she promised and Stiles acknowledged it a thankful grin.

“Okay, then,” he said, then crouched down to be on the same eye level with the children. He dropped to his knees and touched both of his hands to both of the kids' heads and pulled them close, onto his chest. “Take care, okay? Make sure to look after each other, too.”

“Okay,” came the reply simultaneously from the two peers.

“Promise me?” Stiles requested.

“Promise.”

“Good,” Stiles said, and planted a long kiss on each of the children's foreheads before standing up again and leaving for the second floor, where he was supposed to show up in less than thirty seconds.

. o O o .

Olivia didn't show up today. As Stiles later got to know it, she had caught the flu that had spread out approximately two weeks ago. He wrote a text message to her, wishing her to get better soon and good health, then went back to reading his Criminology book. Half of his attention was always on the phone, though, being ready to be given a call anytime by Jane because of the kids.

People were passing and wandering, just the usual. The only thing that differed was the strange feeling of being aware of his solitude at the desk. After a long while of reading, Stiles groaned, lifted his glasses temporarily for the sake of rubbing his stinging eyes with the heel of his hands, then spun around to gaze the outer world. A silver picture welcomed him—it was overcast and thickly foggy, enough to make one's hair damp if spent enough time outdoors. The sound of someone clearing their throat came, making him to turn back forward, however, he expected anything but that to be faced by. Stiles was sure he must have had a comical expression on when his brain registered the identity of the individual.

“Hello there,” the man said.

“Hey,” Stiles gave a shy wave of fingers. His other hand flew to his glasses in an instant to adjust them, feeling jittery abruptly. He was just about to ask Derek what he was doing there, but the man beat him to it—just the usual.

“I wanted to ask for your number but you stormed off too fast,” he said, chasing a blush onto Stiles' cheeks and ears in an instant, at the same time making Stiles incredibly antsy. He scratched the back of his ear, involuntarily averting his gaze from Derek's firm, definite shape.

“Yeah?” he blurted intelligently. Derek gave a small smile at that, just a tiny, hardly noticeable twitch at the corner of his mouth. He nodded curtly.

“Yeah.”

“Well, so,” Stiles babbled, suddenly not sure what he's supposed to do, though his mind was constantly yelling at him, ordering to hand over a piece of paper to Derek along with a pen so he can put down the desired information which unbelievably was _Stiles' cell phone number_. Stiles had to doubt again whether this was his life or not.

Derek gracefully arched an eyebrow, and Stiles snapped out of his daze. He got over the numerous shocks he'd just been given, then submissively slid over a small slip of paper and a pen. He dictated his number which Derek put down carefully, before hiding it in the inner pocket of his leather jacket. Stiles' mind momentarily wondered if that is the only clothing apparel that he wears.

“I also brought back the book,” Derek added as a beside-the-point information. As if to evident his words, he pulled out the said book and gave it to Stiles. The teenager shot into a standing position, accepting the book awhile.

“Yeah, okay,” he mumbled. He thought their shared amount of time was over, but apparently it wasn't, at least not yet. As he recognized Derek following him, he turned his face back to him, his jaw falling in a not-yet-asked question.

“Can you recommend me anything else?” Oh. Of course, he had his shift, and Derek wanted him to show another book to him. They had talked about books the previous day anyway, so Stiles had a vague idea of what subjects could interest Derek.

“Sure,” he said, making a sudden halt in order to change his route to the psychological documents. “Psychology again, or something else this time?” Derek was silent for a few moments before he gave a reply.

“Whatever you think is worth reading.”

That response amused Stiles. It meant that Derek trusted his taste enough to let him choose out his next reading for him. For some reason it lifted his spirits, though even he wouldn't have been able to put his finger on the reason behind it. He weaved his way over to a haphazard shelf, Derek following suit, hot on his heels. When Stiles sneaked a peek at Derek from the corner of his eye, he could see the man ogling the spines of the books, reading their titles.

Stiles stroked his fingertips over the covers, searching for an appropriate one, then he suddenly stopped and grabbed one. He hauled it out and held it toward Derek.

“Here,” he said. “It's about behaviourism. I read it when I had to write an essay for my Social Studies class back at high school. It was on psychoanalysis and behaviourism. If anything, this is definitely a worthy reading. If you ask me,” he added, for some reason considering it important to point out.

“Thanks,” came the short answer from Derek's side. Stiles nodded in a small movement, then left to put the previously brought back book to its place. By the time he went back to his desk, Derek had already been waiting there. Stiles quickly hopped onto his office chair, pulled his legs directly under the table and started clicking on the computer due to the loaning process. This time he didn't spare a glance at Derek's reading card, already being aware of his name. “I wanted to ask you yesterday why you ended up choosing Criminology as your major.”

“What do you mean?” asked Stiles. As far as he could remember, they had already talked through that question.

“You said at first you had wanted to become a cop because you had been excited to work with your father. But you didn't tell me the _current_ reason.”

“Oh,” Stiles stuttered, notifying Derek that he got the gist. “Well, thing is, I can't really imagine myself doing anything else, y'know. I have a mouth that never shuts up, with which I tend to piss off the people around me, I love mysteries, I love to analyse things, I have this weird obsession with weapons, I love driving, and I guess I'm fucked up enough to find assessing a corpse amusing.” Derek hummed, a faint smile vaguely playing at his lips again. Stiles swallowed hard against a lump in his throat that got there out of the blue. “See, I told you, I'm talking too much. It's better if I just shut up. I've put a foot in my mouth already, and I don't want to do it again anytime soon.”

Before anything else could have been said between the two of them, a ring cut off their conversation. Stiles' mind registered that it was the one on his desk, which meant it was something work-related.

“Desk two, Stiles Stilinski speaking.” While listening to what was being said on the other end of the line, he was constantly nodding, then, when it was over, ended the call with a wide grin stretching out onto his face while saying, “Okay, thanks a bunch! I'm coming.” He looked at Derek, then stood up slowly. “I have to go.”

“Where?” Stiles shrugged as he was searching for the paper that read ' _Lunch break—for complaints or questions please go for the other desk_ '. He stuck it on the edge with blue tack before going round the desk. Derek joined him when he passed him.

“I ordered food,” he explained. “I'm going to get it.”

Derek didn't say anything, just nodded to show Stiles he understood. They walked down the staircase in complete silence, however, Stiles remembered to visit Isaac and Erica. It had been a long time since they had seen him last, and they must have been missing him a lot. (Stiles was definitely missing them.) He didn't miss the confused look Derek gave him when he halted at the entrance of the first floor. He thumbed over his shoulder at the inside.

“Uh, I have to see someone,” he said, and Derek's eyebrow twitched in an instant. “Two people, actually,” he corrected. After considering it for a short while, he asked, “Wanna join?”

As an answer, Derek merely gave a half shrug with a shoulder. Stiles noted that with a small smile, and headed inside with Derek on his side. Once they approached the children's section, he started to search for the two kids those belonged to him. He glimpsed Isaac, who was sitting on the ground with a book laying on his legs, open, with him gazing the pages. Stiles hurried over to him and closed the little boy into his embrace, cooing awhile.

“Hey, sissy boy. What are you reading?” Isaac twisted his head and looked up at Stiles. His blue eyes immediately sparkled up.

“Stiles!” he exclaimed and dropped the book to turn around with his full body for the sake of returning the hug. Stiles could hardly shush him and handle his frantic strength that he pulled Stiles toward himself with. Stiles was chuckling all the way, nonetheless.

“Got'cha!” chirped another tiny voice, this time from behind Stiles. It undoubtedly belonged to Erica, who climbed onto Stiles' back and was now hanging down from it. Stiles was all little laughters and snickers, happiness and content radiating from his very being. When he snapped back to reality, he reminded himself that Derek was still there, probably _still_ watching him. He looked up and gave the man an apologetic lopsided smile. Derek's facial expression and features softened and a low-key smile broke out on his face. Taking that as his cue, Stiles spoke up again.

“Sweets, let me introduce you to somebody,” he said. The kids froze in a blink of an eye, clinging onto him more tightly as if they were unwilling to share him or they were afraid that they would loose him. Despite that, both of them raised their eyes and looked at Derek's shape. “That is Derek Hale.”

Derek gave a wave, though his eyes were stuck at Isaac, and so were Isaac's, at him. Stiles was oblivious to this, though. He was only fully aware of his environment when it was important or the situation called for it. Then Jane came around the corner.

“I'll be back in a short while,” Stiles said. She nodded shortly, already aware why he had to leave. Stiles gave a quick kiss to both of the children before storming out of the section to go to the reception desk on the ground floor, where his food order was already awaiting.

He paid for it and migrated back to the children's section, however, before he appeared from around the shelf that kept him hidden, he could hear as Jane was talking about him to Derek. It made him blush.

“Stiles is like a father for the two. I don't know the details, but I do know that they love him an awful lot. And it's the same for Stiles—he's a literal angel with the kids, but you could already see a bit of a hint of that.”

After hearing that, Stiles waited for a few beats before he revealed his presence and walked out from behind the row of shelves. The kids immediately ran to him and started pawing at the lower end of his jeans. He couldn't help but chuckle, carefully moving forward to make sure he won't harm the children. From his peripheral vision, he could catch a glimpse of Derek giving his body a once over, making his nape itchy and enhancing his heartbeat. He slowly but surely approached the short table and placed the food on it. He knew it wasn't the most appropriate place to eat, but he was also aware that the two didn't like to be on the move all the time. Also, the library was a bit quieter during lunchtime.

“Here you go, my darlings,” he singsonged tenderly as both Isaac and Erica made themselves comfortable at the side of the wooden material, ready for the consumption. They thanked the food before diving in. Stiles turned to Derek and asked, “You hungry?”

At first, he seemed to be taken aback by being asked, however, he quickly managed to even out his expression, form it back to the casual deadpan face, before answering, “No, but thanks.”

“You're gonna get a bottle of water anyway,” Stiles shrugged, already unpacking his share, getting ready to embrace it. Derek frowned in confusion, and as if Stiles had an eye on the back of his head, too, he continued his statement with an explanation. “Your body needs a lot of water, aside from your age—” he twisted his spine to turn back and face Derek with wide eyes, his hands beginning to flail exorbitantly all of a sudden. “I mean—I didn't mean to offend you, of course you're not old, even if that did sound like I was meaning to say that, but I wasn't, okay? I—” Derek exhaled through his nostrils.

“Calm down, Stiles,” he said calmly. Stiles was sure his face was bright red. Derek came closer, until he was standing directly next to Stiles. He dropped down to the floor and sat next to him cross-legged, his elbow resting on his thigh and propping his sharply defined cheekbone on his fist. His molten-looking gaze made Stiles squirm under it, feeling the need to move constantly.

Silence fell at them again, only the usual sounds of the library and the noises of them eating filled it in. Jane wasn't present at the scene, being away for spending her lunch break accordingly as well. She always ate when Stiles did, this way the two of them working together seamlessly.

When Stiles was ready, he grabbed one of the plastic bottles and held it out for Derek. The man blinked at it once or twice before averting his eyes from it in favour of changing to look at Stiles in a long, firm stare. It made the teenager jittery again.

“I promised to give you one. Take it, come on,” he urged, shaking the container slightly, making the water slosh around in it, to emphasize his willingness to give. “Come on Derek, just take it.”

That, apparently, switched something in Derek, because in the next second the man's arm moved and flew out to grant Stiles' wish like a clockwork. Stiles smirked almost smugly when Derek took the bottle. “Good,” he said, then scooped up his and the children's trash to go and throw them into the bin.

Erica tagged along with him, while Isaac stayed put in his spot, giving Derek a persistent glare. His bright, clear blue eyes changed and faded into a golden shade. Derek knew what it meant—the child challenged him. It was obvious that he knew; werewolves had sophisticated senses, it wasn't a big trick for them to tell whether someone was also a supernatural creature or not. In the end Derek settled with illuminating his eyes as well, and if anything, that made Isaac drop his competing demeanour.

Stiles returned with Erica sitting on his forearm, while tightly clutching Stiles' flannel button-up shirt. He placed a loving kiss on the wee girl's puffy cheek before ruffling her blonde locks of curly hair affectionately.

“I need to return to work, Princess,” he said, then put her down right next to Isaac, however, she didn't seem to want to let go of him.

“No go, Stiles,” she protested and buried her face in his T-shirt, that he wore under the button-up, nuzzling her face into it. Stiles patted her head gently, murmuring into her ear to soothe her and make her soft emotional outburst stop.

“I have to go, baby,” he said in an apologetic tone. “I'll spend as much time with you as possible at home, okay? Promise,” he added, not waiting for even one beat of silence. She sobbed into his chest, then slowly let go. “Okay, you're okay,” Stiles whispered into her hair, his hands constantly raking over the soft strands as Isaac came up to her and replaced Stiles' arms with his. Stiles mouthed a 'thank you' to him, then kissed his forehead before leaving the children's section. Derek followed close behind.

“When do you have time to study?” he asked, trying to walk next to Stiles as they were on their way on the stairs. The teenager shrugged and adjusted his glasses.

“During work, when I'm on the move, at night,” he counted. “Whenever I have time.”

“Sounds like you're scheduled,” Derek pointed out, which chased out a short laughter from Stiles, full on dimples and head tipped back momentarily.

“Guess you could say that,” he agreed with a nod, his hand flying to touch his glasses again instinctively.

“Any free time?” If anything, that question increased Stiles' heart rate again, and re-formed a so familiar lump into his throat that was now officially a permanent thing of his whenever Derek was around. The asked question kept something mysteriously and eerily coaxing within itself that had Stiles longing and his chest twisting painfully. He knew he couldn't take that offer, ever. He wasn't worthy for that, for a relationship. Not only with Derek, but with anyone. He shook his head and gave Derek a small, apologetic smile.

“No can do,” he sighed. “I'm too busy, I really can't squeeze anything in.” Derek hummed with his eyes darted firmly at the ground, his definite eyebrows furrowed faintly.

“Why do you have kids, then? You must have known you would be busy if you established a family.” Stiles involuntarily nodded, only realizing it wasn't exactly a smart thing to do, because this way he's just told Derek how much he agrees with him.

“I know, I just—” he trailed off. His front teeth sank into the pink flesh of his bottom lip, knowing he had to figure something out, as soon as possible. In the end, the solution he came up with was, “I just... accepted a job and it's more overburdening that I thought it would be, you know?” Derek frowned for real this time. Stiles wondered if the way he acted made the lie too obvious. He hoped it didn't.

At first he thought Derek would ask him further questions, but it wasn't the case—the man wished him luck with managing his life before taking a 180 degrees turn on his heels and going for the entrance of the library.

Stiles was left there wondering, horrified, if he'd just screwed it up.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles was doing the laundry when his phone rang in the back pocket of his jeans. He pulled it out with an arched brow to check the ID of the caller party. It was an unknown number, but he answered it anyway.

“Hello,” he said in a chatting tone, squeezing the device between his cheek and shoulder as he picked up a little tee from the basket full of clothes and shoved it in the washing machine.

“Leonard Smith,” came the voice from the other end of the line. Stiles immediately knew it was work-related.

. o O o .

After the call, he migrated to the kitchen and approached the stove. Just like in a film that depicted a perfect family, Erica and Isaac were chasing each other while Stiles took care of the cooking food. As he leaned over the casserole and lifted its topper, the burst of mildly muggy steam hit his face and blurred his vision by damping his glasses. He shook his head and took them off, placing them on the counter. Thankfully, his vision wasn't too bad at all, he had only chosen to have glasses made for himself because he hadn't been comfortable with not being able to see clearly the other end of a middle-sized room, meaning he had slight myopia.

In no time he also remembered he hadn't visited his website for a while. It was high time he did it, so he made a mental note for himself to refresh it and give it a brief update.

Also, he remembered not only the call but the way Derek left him at the library the other day. A lump formed instantly in his throat, making it tight and him feeling like choking modestly, slowly and agonizingly. Before he could think twice about it, he pulled his phone out from the pocket of his sweatpants he wore at home, turned around and leaned against the rounded edge of the counter with the base of his spine. He unlocked the screen only to stare at it for some long moments, maybe even minutes, before he did what he actually wanted—to message Derek.

_Hey. I was wondering how you've been doing. I hope you're all right._

Finishing typing, he winced at the text after giving it a once-over. A voice, which he swatted down, barked viciously at the back of his mind that he should rewrite it and go for more casual and definitely making his nervousness _less obvious_. That was the plan, the perfectest plan ever, but the implement wasn't even remotely efficient—as his luck would have it, of course his finger had to settle on today for striking, which meant his plan resulted in being a complete disaster, because the text was sent the way he typed it out first.

Before he could have cursed out, he abruptly reminded himself that there were children with him, and despite they weren't paying attention to him at all, he didn't want to risk letting them hear something obscene.

A couple minutes later, while he was serving the food, his phone buzzed on the counter. Stiles' head shot up and swivelled in the direction of the device instantly. He excused himself and hurried over to it to open the text message he'd just got.

_Yes, thank you._

That was it. Stiles' enthusiasm was somewhat destroyed at the curt reply. He bit his bottom lip, thinking about a way to keep the conversation going, then started typing out another message, completely ignoring the fact that Derek failed to ask about his well-being.

_What are you doing?_

He winced in fear he was being too pushy and annoying, but on the other hand, he wanted nothing more than to keep in touch with Derek. His feelings won out this time, not his common sense. The fact that within ten minutes he was given another response didn't help either.

_Reading._

Okay, it wasn't going that bad. Except for the fact that it was and Stiles' heart was indeed rocketing amidst his ribs—however, his thumbs were already flashing above the touch screen of his phone. Their messaging could go anywhere from that point, he had a lot of choices to choose some topic.

_Do you read often?_

“Stiles, you said it was bad to use phone at table,” Isaac said innocently, his long eyelashes fanning over his adorably huge eyes. Stiles' face turned into a smile from the surprised expression.

“I did, and I'm sorry. It is just...” he thought for a second, searching for the appropriate word before finishing the sentence, though his voice was a bit wary and unsure as he said it. “important to me.” It almost came out as a question, but it didn't matter anymore, because his phone gave another notification about a new text. Stiles' hand reflexively extended to reach for the device.

_Yes._

Stiles frowned. Why was he so worked up over Derek, again? He clearly wasn't interested. Or he was just a man of few words. Stiles decided—hoped—it was the latter as he typed his response.

_Cool, I do, too. What are you reading?_

This time Derek didn't make him wait for too long. The icon of an unread message appeared at the notification bar of Stiles' phone in less than two minutes.

_The book you gave me._

Stiles quickly replied in hopes that Derek was free now and he was near his own mobile.

_What else do you like doing?_

He waited for a short while, clutching his phone and unlocking the screen over and over again whenever it darkened, but he ended up setting it down on the surface of the table when he realized Derek wasn't going to respond anytime soon.

“Stiles, 'm sheepy,” Erica yawned, making Stiles smiling at her fondly. He acknowledged that with a nod and, standing up, he looked questionningly at Isaac. The boy nodded, rubbing drowsily at his eyes with both hands tightened into meek fists.

Stiles scooped the children up, sitting them both on his forearms and approached his bedroom. He didn't bother to take them to the guest room they had been given, since they always ended up in Stiles' bed anyway. Stiles carefully laid their wee bodies on the soft mattress, which sank under their weight, and covered them with the blanket, also making sure no cool air was allowed under it by tucking it under Erica and Isaac's body.

Stiles then changed into his tracksuit, threw his running shoes on and inserted his headphones in his ears. Simultaneously with closing the front door with his key, his thumb was scrolling down on his music playlist to find a song to listen to during running.

Once he settled with one, Stiles jogged down the stairs only to halt in front of the door that led outdoors for the sake of performing a quick warm-up and brief stretching of his muscles. Within five minutes, the considered it enough and took off. He didn't have a particular route in his mind, but he instinctively tried to figure one out for himself—planning was an inevitable part of his personality, he already knew that.

He ran through haphazard streets of New York. The biting cold was harsh against his trachea, making him cough some time, but it was nothing he couldn't deal with. He valued the training more than to actually care about that. Though Stiles was glad for not sparing putting on a vest as well; he blessed his mind for that.

In the end he realized he had come all the way to Central Park, which meant he'd been running for a good three quarter hour now without having to stop. Stiles wound his speed down a little only to let his head swivel around its axis to gaze the park that mirrored exquisitely the patterns of autumn.

He wouldn't have stopped at all, but suddenly his phone started ringing in his pocket. Stiles accepted the call without so much as glancing at the screen to see who gave him a call. He was too preoccupied with making sure not to lose the rhythm of his steps and breathing.

“Yeah?” he breathed out, his voice a mere exhale.

“Did I... interrupt something?” came the voice of the caller, and if anything, that brought Stiles to a stop in his running. He double checked the caller ID before opening his mouth.

“Derek?” he couldn't help the disbelieving ring in his tone. “Uh, no, just... I was running. I mean, I technically _am_ , so just,” he squinted, his slightly upturned nose curling up a bit more into an adorable expression as he was searching for the proper words. “forgive me for being out of breath.”

Derek chuckled.

“I don't mind,” he said, his low voice light. It eased Stiles' heart, too, the previous uneasiness slowly but surely subsiding. “In fact, I should be the one to apologize for interrupting you.” Stiles immediately shook his head fiercely as though Derek could see it. Then he remembered that maybe he should say something.

“No, it's okay. So, why'd you call?” he asked, figuring it was best to let Derek get to the point.

“Right,” Derek said. “I just wanted to tell you that I hate it when I'm disturbed. I prefer tranquility while I'm reading, so,” he cleared his throat. “If you thought I was mad at you, then I'm sorry.” Stiles' eyes widened and his mouth fell agape. He managed to find his voice again after almost too long time.

“No, it's okay, dude, totally, I get it,” he said, his hands flailing around in the air. “I hate it, too, but you know I don't really have much time to read anything else besides my compulsory reading. For the university.”

“Yeah, I understand,” Derek said genuinely. It tugged a small smile to the corners of Stiles' lips. “Anyway, can I join you the next time you go running?” Stiles didn't have to think for too long before blurting his answer.

“Sure, I'll let you know when I'm free for a run again.”

“Great,” Derek said, and Stiles could practically hear the modest smile in his voice. Derek had declared it great, and Stiles thought that yeah, probably, _maybe_ it was.

. o O o .

One and a half weeks had passed since the phone call. During that time period, Derek and Stiles had met everyday—be it in the library during Stiles' shift, or just Derek giving him a ride home, or during the settled running marathons. They kept finding time to spend with each other, and the fact that how natural and _good_ it felt freaked Stiles out. He knew he shouldn't let Derek closer to him any more than Derek had already managed to come.

However, on a Friday afternoon, he found himself on a basketball court with the ball in his hands, bouncing it on the ground while he ran towards Derek's basket to earn another point for himself. Only the two of them were there, even the streets were deserted, and darkness had already started lowering on the city, but neither of them cared. The court they were on was a social property, meaning anyone could use it. A tall fence was framing it to prevent the ball from getting too far away if it should bounce away from the players.

Stiles was aware of Derek's presence being hot on his heels, chasing him for the ball, but Stiles didn't give in. He angled his body in the perfect direction and jumped up to drop the ball through the rim. It fell through it seamlessly, earning Stiles a point. After landing on the ground, he didn't fail to turn a smug smirk at Derek, who just rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and snatched the ball. Stiles immediately took off after him, but apparently it was too late—Derek had already threw the ball that stuttered on the outer side of the rim before falling right in, making the two boys' points equal again. Derek flashed a triumphant arch of his judgemental eyebrows at Stiles, who just huffed.

He shot forward and swatted the ball out of Derek's hands, who had caught it after taking the shot and freaking _nailing it_ , and started running in a fast pace, but he shrieked when he was suddenly grabbed from behind. He felt Derek's strong and richly muscled arms sneaking around his chest and hips. Stiles turned his face around, his jaw already dropping in a not-yet asked question, but Derek took advantage of the absence of his attention and, re-earning the ball, he threw it at Stiles' basket again, also winning the game by this. Stiles moaned in disagreement, and he wanted to call out “cheater” on Derek more than anything, but he bit his lip and held it back. After all, maybe it had only been him to think Derek had been going to hug him and—

“It was a good game,” Derek said, approaching Stiles and extending his hand. It took Stiles a moment to realize he was supposed to pound his fist against Derek's in a bro-fist manner. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

“A favour,” Stiles said, turning to go to his bag in which his bottle of water was as well. “Provided that you're not busy, of course.” Derek frowned vaguely and shook his head.

“I'm free most of the time.” Stiles nodded and his front teeth sank into the plush pink flesh of his full bottom lip warily. He was still insecure about it being a good idea at all. Derek took a step closer, ducking his head a little in an attempt to try to catch Stiles' gaze with his. Stiles didn't even realize he was ogling the ground until then. “Stiles?” Stiles looked up at him, his eyes finding Derek's face. “You okay?”

“Sure, just... I guess it's kind of a big favour to ask?” he shrugged, but kept both of his shoulders hunched next to his neck, unsure.

“Let _me_ decide whether it's too much for you to ask me, okay?” Derek offered, his tone only the slightest bit sharp. Stiles nodded, his shoulders falling limp.

“So, thing is that my Dad called me that his deputy is coming here tomorrow. He has some work-related business to do, but it will most likely take a few days, and I assume he will need to sleep at mine, and I don't want him to—” Stiles cut off the flow of his words. He couldn't tell Derek.

“The children would be afraid of him?” Stiles nodded, and Derek followed suit in the gesture, acknowledging the information. It wasn't the entirety of the truth, but it would do for Stiles, at least for now. “Of course I can help. I have room for them. If they are okay with it, then so am I.”

Stiles' whole face melted into a warm smile, and Derek was definitely eyeing his face for longer than he usually did, or than he should have done, but Stiles blamed it on the absence of his glasses—without those, he had an entirely new face to show the world.

. o O o .

Stiles was waiting at the airport, constantly looking around to find the man. He had already given his Dad a call to reassure him he was there, waiting to pick his deputy up, who, if everything goes smoothly, was also Stiles' future co-worker. Stiles was insisting on his Dad telling him why his deputy had to come to New York exactly, but the Sheriff waved him off with an “it's a secret even for _you_ ”, with a stingingly obvious emphasis on the last word as though his father wanted to make sure Stiles understood not to interfere.

“Hey, Parrish!” he yelled, swinging his arm high in the air in a wave to make sure the deputy recognized him. Apparently he had heard Stiles' voice, because he took a 180 degrees turn and his pale green eyes found Stiles' shape in a second. Parrish took off to approach Stiles while pulling his suitcase on the ground behind himself, it rolling smoothly on the pavement.

“Hello, Stiles,” he said, flashing an attractive smile at the boy, who couldn't help but requite it.

“Need help with that?” Stiles jerked his head in the general direction of Parrish, his eyes commuting between his backpack and suitcase. The deputy chuckled and shook his head.

“No, thanks, I'm good.”

“Well,” Stiles glanced at his watch. “We have seven more minutes 'till the next bus comes. I'm guessing you want to get rid of those first before getting into your business.” Parrish answered with a nod.

“Yeah, that would be great.”

He and Stiles took off towards the bus stop to wait for the public transport there. They were talking mostly about Stiles' Dad, Parrish's work and Stiles' studies. Stiles was disturbingly inquisitive about the police work, so Parrish ended up having to tell him he couldn't answer some of his questions, because that would have been inappropriate.

The bus arrived and took them to the last station, where Stiles and Parrish left for the subway. They had two transfers before finally arriving to their destination. Stiles led the way all over to his loft, opened the door and then a pang of vacancy slapped him in the face and nestled itself in his chest—the absence of the two wee peers were probably a bit far too obvious for his liking.

He swallowed hard against the tightness in his gullet once or twice before ushering Parrish further inside. Stiles made a cup of tea for both of them, conversed with his Dad's deputy for a while, until the man announced that he had to leave for the business he actually came for.

. o O o .

When Parrish came back to Stiles' flat, he nearly immediately left after with his package in his hands. He had had a brief conversation with Stiles, though, in which he had also made sure to explain the teenager why he had been leaving. Parrish had said to Stiles that he had booked a hotel room for himself back at Beacon Hills, it had just been the easier solution for him to let Stiles lead him to his place first where he could put his stuff for a while.

Stiles wasn't offended, he knew Parrish well already and thus, he was aware how cool that guy was. If anything, the last thing he wanted was to insult not only Stiles, but anyone else.

A short while after twilight, however, Stiles was given a call. He had been busy making the bed in the guest room and cooking dinner that he had been planning on taking to Derek's loft as a way of saying thank you for looking after the children, apparently for no particular reason at all.

Without checking the caller ID, Stiles' thumb swiped across the touch screen and accepted the call.

“No, Dad, Parrish isn't here, and _yes_ , Dad, I tried to convince him to stay the night, but—”

“Stiles,” said another male voice, which was clearly _not_ Stiles' father. He was opening his mouth already, just about to ask why Derek's voice sounded so heavy and thick, like was choking, but the man beat him to it. “Something terrible happened. You have to come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this chapter was a bit overwhelming, but I needed to squeeze a lot of events in it, so please forgive me for the rush.
> 
> The next part has a strong emotional load, though, so prepare for the power of the Feels tag! :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there!
> 
> It's 6 AM in the morning, but I promised an update today. My day is going to be awfully busy, that's why I'm fulfilling my given word right now. First, I'm having my language exam, then, after a rushed preparation, my senior ball. This is why, I'm not going to be home again today. I'll probably be at home sometime in the morning, so.
> 
> Anyway, here's the chapter! I hope you will like it. It really has Feels (basically the whole thing _is_ FEELS, with full capital), I wrote it while listening to cheesy sad songs and everything. My friend told me that this chapter is the best one so far.
> 
> So, read it, and then I'll be really grateful for your beautiful self! ♥
> 
> Comments are very welcome! :)

Stiles' eyes were gazing the rapidly gliding view of the black brick wall on the opposite side of the subway through the transparent glass window. His heart had been beating furiously amidst his ribs ever since Derek's phone call occurred. The man's voice had been seeped generously with despair, which just made Stiles even more jittery. His hands had been shaking as well, and he was trying his hardest to fight back a possible panic attack.

His legs were bouncing up and down on the linoleum ground of the subway, and his long fingers found their way to his glasses and the neck of his tee—he was adjusting both, and with all of the sweat going on Stiles was sure he depicted a junkie who had been running low on his drugs for a long while.

He pulled out his phone from his pocket only to check the time, which was apparently crawling even slower than he wanted it to. His senses were fucked up right now, but the jeopardy urged him to forget about that part. The most important thing was for him to arrive to his destination at last.

But there were still seven more agonizing minutes that he was bound to spend trapped on the public transport. And that time was fairly enough for him to egg himself on and make himself as nervous as it was humanly possible for him.

He was this close to cry out and start cursing everything aloud, but he moderated himself by biting his bottom lip harshly with a teeth.

Stiles had to make sure that everything was okay.

When there were merely two more minutes left for him, he started counting how long it would take for him to get there from the station, considering the distance between the building he was heading to and his current position.

Stiles had been standing on his feet even before the metro stopped. Then, the second the doors opened he dashed out from the suffocatingly small area. He didn't care the least about the cussing of the other people, he had an incredibly important business to do. Screw that fifteen-minute-long walking distance, he was going to take a short cut by running there all the way.

He hurtled his was through the crowd, even pushed fellow people aside whenever it was needed. More so, Stiles went so far as risking being involved in a collision—he almost ended up plastered to the wind shield of a random car when he, ignoring everything, simply decided to cross the road despite the light had switched back to red.

Stiles figured it was much better than stopping.

In fact, _anything_ was a better choice than halting at that time.

Stiles, without winding his speed down even the slightest bit, activated the screen of his phone only to check how long it had taken him so far to reach his current place. He evaluated his remainder time to be around two or three minutes to approach the building.

As his luck would have it, of course he was still living his own life, just as it was evidenced by him slipping on the pavement and landing face-first against the hard and cold concrete, earning a few mini scratches on the heels of his palms by it. However, he ignored the dull pain, wiped his prickling blood on his trousers and took off again as if nothing had happened.

He only allowed himself to slow down when he was near enough to the hospital.

Stiles tried to suppress his panting as much as he could, but he couldn't hide the fact he had been dashing here all along. He jogged to the elevator and pushed its button, but after three moments of his leg jumping in anxious impatience, he left and made a run for it on the stairs. Derek had texted him previously which room he had to go to, and after a few difficulties, Stiles arrived to ward 347.

He opened the door without so much as bothering with knocking. The scene that welcomed him almost tossed him to the edge and freed his tears from his moist eyes.

The first thing he saw was Derek, hunched over the hospital bed and his hand on Erica's pale little paw. Isaac was sitting on the bed, crowding Erica's fragile body with his. He only looked up when he caught scent of Stiles, otherwise anyone else could have gone to Hell if it was up to him. It took Derek a half second to tear his pale hazel gaze away from the little girl's pretty face, full of fear, insecurity and worry.

“What happened?” Stiles panted once he took hold of his voice again. He couldn't help but wince at how harsh his bare whisper sounded in the closed up room. Derek's scowl deepened into a dark expression.

“Erica had a seizure,” came the answer, just as quiet, but not as weak as Stiles' tone had been before. The teenager closed the door behind himself and slowly approached the bed, his hand already reaching out to lay a meek touch on the girl's soft skin. Isaac scooted a little away to give Stiles space so he could sit next to Erica.

It was like Derek could sense Stiles being on the verge of crying, because after less than five seconds, his broad palm was stroking soothing circles into Stiles' scapula through his clothes. Stiles hiccuped a shaky breath with which he also swallowed back down his tears.

His fingers curled around Erica's hand and held it gently, with his thumb massaging it with butterfly-light pressure. Stiles' brain hardly registered Isaac as he pressed his body up close to Stiles', like he wanted to join his ribs under his skin. The little boy octopused himself around Stiles, throwing his slender, but supernaturally strong arms around his waist as he sobbed into Stiles' puffy winter vest.

With his other hand, Stiles rubbed at the child's scalp, his mouth fallen open to murmur soothing nothings to him. And all the while, Derek's hand stayed put on Stiles' back like an anchor to which Stiles could hold on in this situation, where he felt like the ground had been pulled out from under his feet and he was falling helplessly.

He didn't want to admit, but Derek's presence helped and _meant_ him a lot. Stiles knew he shouldn't grow attached, but it was probably already too late for him to worry about that.

Despite the circumstances, Stiles felt like he was surrounded by family, and he was among people who genuinely love him, no matter what. The hectic jumpiness had started to slowly but surely evaporate from Stiles' being, and even though Derek sensed that the teenager's nervousness more or less bled out from him, he stubbornly refused to take his warm palm away—it's not like anyone asked him to do so in the first place.

Approximately twenty minutes in, Isaac's quiet sobs faded away, too, and he was just leaning against Stiles' side with half of his face and nose buried in his clothes, seeking comfort by his Anchor.

There was a vague smile playing faintly at the corners of Derek's lips as he raked his fingers through the curly golden locks of hair. Stiles felt the touch of the man's fingers against his ribcage and he averted his gaze from Erica to look at Derek instead. He requited the exchange of sight after merely two seconds, lifting his eyes up from Isaac's mostly hidden face.

“Thank you,” mouthed Stiles without letting a spare sound escape his throat. Derek merely nodded, and let the previous beginning of a smile spread out on his face eternally. Without words, he answered, 'You're welcome' to Stiles.

The next few minutes passed with Stiles' fingers stroking Erica's hand while his other hand was wrapped around Isaac's small body with Derek's fingers still tangled in the boy's curly strands of hair.

After a short time, Stiles abruptly ducked his head to check on Isaac, who had apparently fallen asleep awhile—Stiles had been suspecting it, considering the lack of squeeze and movement from Isaac's part. Stiles chuckled quietly to himself, then motioned for Derek to let go of the child so that he can lay him next to Erica. Derek got up from the bed and lifted the blanket a little, careful not to wake the girl, as Stiles laid the other next to her. The teenager kept his tender gaze on the two children as Derek volunteered to tug the blanket over them and tufted it delicately under their bodies to prevent the cold from sneaking under the fabric in the two's sleep.

Then there was a knock on the door.

Derek and Stiles exchanged a look, both of theirs eyebrows arched up high in surprise and confusion. Before Derek could have made a move to get it, Stiles had already marched his way over to the door and his hand reached out for the metal handle, pushing it down and pulling the piece of wood open. Through the ajar door he could see two men standing on the hallway. If anything, Stiles' eyebrows shot even higher, nearly melting into his hairline.

What were two policemen doing there?

He pushed the door all the way open, revealing the inside of the ward to the people of law enforcement with Derek inside. When Stiles turned around, he was faced by Derek's pained expression. He didn't know what was going on. He was so utterly confused—why did the police come here? If it turned out now that Derek was in fact a serial killer or something, Stiles was surely going to crawl into a hole and die there isolated from everything but the kids. Only he could be such a lucky person to trust a murderer.

“Sir,” the taller one said, thankfully silently enough that neither Isaac nor Erica woke up. He was obviously talking to Derek, his firm eyes fixed on Derek's features all the while. Stiles swallowed heavily against a newly-formed lump in his throat, making his trachea feel tight and him like choking on nothing. His palms got covered in cold sweat in no time, and he felt like his chest vanished, leaving behind his wildly beating heart, exposed.

“I know,” Derek said, his head lolling ahead, which left him with no choice but to eye the floor. He walked towards the cops, but Stiles caught his wrist just before he could pass him without saying anything. Once Stiles got hold of Derek's eyes, he searched his gaze for something, _anything_ , like simply that could give a satisfying explanation to this whole scenario. Derek just shrugged and said, “Don't worry.”

Stiles frowned.

“Don't just tell me not to worry,” he scolded, not caring about the possible weird looks the policemen would give them. He made sure the volume of his voice was kept low, though. Without taking a breath, he went on, “Why are you being charged? Did something happen? Are you secretly a serial killer or something? Don't tell me you're one, I don't want to know.”

Despite that, despite everything, Derek actually huffed out a modest and brief _laugh_ , a bit more than just a little absurd reaction in the situation, before smoothing his broad palm over Stiles' hand that was still gripping him.

Stiles snapped. “You can't just tell me not to worry! I trusted you with the children!” He repeated, this time in a more erratic way.

Derek just patted Stiles' shoulder once or twice in an attempt to calm him, before turning to face the cops who were blinking at them with a weird look on by now. Stiles just folded his arms over his chest and remained a bystander, observing the further occurrences with a fair dose of scepticism.

When the shorter cop moved to close the door, though, Stiles caught it and offered a lopsided smile to the man.

“I wanna hear, if that's okay.”

The two cops just looked at each other, asking without words whether it was a good idea or not, then the shorter shrugged and let Stiles join them outside on the corridor.

“I believe you know why we're here,” said the taller one. Derek just pursed his lips and nodded curtly. Stiles arched an eyebrow, but resisted the temptation to show further signs of curiosity. He just leaned his shoulder against the white wall and kept his gaze fixed firmly on Derek's leather jacket-covered shape.

“You're going to be charged with 80$,” announced the other policeman. Stiles' eyes blinked a couple of times in confusion and slight surprise—if he had actually expected anything, this certainly hadn't been among his choices.

Derek pulled out his wallet and took the ticket he was handed there. Stiles just gaped at the scene in front of him, and then it was over as soon and as suddenly as it happened.

And the next moment the two men were turning around and walking away on the hallway. However, they had given Derek a brief enlightening about the rules of driving.

Stiles didn't understand anything.

As Derek turned on his heels, Stiles gave him the best interrogating Horatio-look he could muster without the help of the trademark sunglasses. Derek, the naïve, thought he would escape it by shrugging, but clearly he wasn't aware of Stiles' stubbornness. He sighed, surrendering.

“I drove over two reds,” he admitted in a resigning manner. Stiles' eyes widened and his arms dropped from in front of his chest where they had been folded.

“You kidding me?” he exclaimed, then extended his hand with his palm facing the ceiling. “Hand it over.” Derek gave him a deadpan face, already aware what Stiles was asking for any why. He shook his head.

“No,” he refused, also taking a step backwards just for good measure, as though conveying Stiles the message 'don't even think about snatching it from me'. Stiles' eyebrows furrowed into a deep frown, but he huffed anyway, giving up. He also held his hands up a short while later, giving Derek the white flag.

Instead of arguing, Stiles just opened the door and went back to the ward with Derek following close behind. There were two armchairs in the small room besides the tiny chair standing next to the hospital bed where the two children were sleeping now. Stiles collapsed down into the armchair that was closer to the kids, and Derek took the other one on the left side of Stiles. Stiles spread his left arm on the armrest with his fingertips tapping a haphazard rhythm out on the soft material. His other hand was plastered to his mouth, apparently deep in wary thought. Derek's eyes were fixed on the teenager's profile, but then he averted his gaze to ogle the silently breathing Erica and Isaac.

Ten minutes passed, twenty even, and there were no words spoken between them. Both of them busied himself with paying attention to the sounds in the deep silence—Stiles' fingers drumming on the furniture and the even intakes of breaths of the kids. The lights were switched off, the faint pale silvery beams of the Moon were the only things in the room giving any kind of source of light, casting everything in a greyish blue colour.

After ten more mute minutes, Stiles finally opened his mouth.

“I guess now I owe you the truth,” was what he decided to go with. His voice was uncharacteristically quiet as he spoke. Derek perked up at that sentence and craned his neck to give Stiles a confused look, even though the boy couldn't see it clearly in the darkness. Also, he wasn't even looking anywhere remotely close to Derek's direction. More so, he turned his entire face away from the man as though he was about to tell his darkest secret. Derek fidgeted with his own fingers, not quite sure what was appropriate for him to do or say.

Stiles took a deep breath.

“Truth is, the children aren't mine,” he went on. Derek's eyes widened. All the while he had thought Stiles had had a relationship, and due to youngsters' typical hypothetical blindness, he had been incautious and ended up as a father of two kids. But apparently that wasn't the case. Derek wanted to ask why they were living with Stiles then, but he didn't want to push anything. He was willing to grant Stiles as much time as he needed to organize his thoughts and steel himself to share further informations. Derek knew what it felt like having to talk about a touchy subject. “I found them nearly a year ago. On the streets.”

As Stiles spoke, his fingers jerked as he suppressed squeezing them into a tight fist. Even without his supernatural skills, Derek could tell Stiles was struggling with his emotions. He considered for a while whether it was a good idea or not, but he settled with placing his hand soothingly over Stiles' anyway. At the touch of their skin, Stiles' whole body shivered and his head swivelled around, looking at Derek for the first time since the cops had left. His mouth was agape for whatever reason—probably an unasked question, or simple surprise, Derek couldn't tell.

They exchanged a long look with each other before Stiles' eyes slowly fluttered closed. Even the blackness couldn't prevent Derek's perfect vision from noticing how the teenager's long eyelashes lavished his cheeks with light silky strokes.

After some minutes spent in companionable silence, Stiles continued.

“It was my first year of university, and winter. I was heading home when I noticed the two of them standing in an impasse. They were so _cold_ , Derek, I couldn't just leave them there like that,” he said, and Derek gave a decent squeeze to his hand as a reassurance. It helped Stiles a little. He knew Derek understood him, and that he wasn't judging him for anything. It was definitely encouraging. “I knew it would be too risky, but I took them in anyway. It wasn't a seamless journey to gain their trust, but now that I have it I'm not only glad that they trust me, but I'm also afraid to do anything that would change their minds, you know?

“For example, back at the party, I refused to drink because I was already tipsy, and I didn't want to risk getting drunk and going home only to do something to either of the kids I would regret later.” Derek's thumb began to rub delicate circles into Stiles' skin while he spoke. “I knew it was stupid, because it's hard to make ends meet, but they are also living creatures who deserve a chance to at least _grow up_. Once I finish my studies, I want them to get admitted to school, I want to educate them. Well, I already started teaching this and that to them, but of course I can't be a replacement for school.

I just want them to know that life has a brighter side, too.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Derek's mouth. He placed his other hand over Stiles' and waited patiently for him to face him again. Once that happened, he trapped the teenager's gaze and gave him an intense, deep look, as if he could see the deepest depths of Stiles' soul.

“I think they already know that.”

His tone was ginger and genuine, making it pathetically obvious to _anyone_ he wasn't kidding. “You can rely on me. I'm going to pay for the ticket, I'm the one who almost caused two accidents after all.” Stiles shook his head, but Derek didn't let him to protest. “Now I understand why you said you were scheduled. If it gets too overwhelming, or you have to study for your exams, or anything, feel free to ask me to look after them. I mean it,” he added. For the first time, he noticed the beginnings of a vague smile on Stiles' lips, too.

“You know, they have a hard time trusting strangers. They can't fully trust Allison nor Scott. Though it's slightly better with Scott, because he helped Isaac with—” he cut himself off mid-sentence, almost blurting out what Isaac was in reality. Derek's face didn't give away anything. He kept a straight face as he asked,

“With...?” he urged Stiles. He wanted desperately for Stiles to know about his identity as well, but first he had to make sure Stiles actually _knew_ about werewolves. The teenager shook his head in a soft denial and waved dismissively with his other hand.

“Never mind,” he hummed. Derek tightened his hold over Stiles' left hand, which made Stiles to find his eyes again. Derek looked into the amber gaze for a long while, until he made up his mind.

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they were illuminated by a glorious ruby colour.

“You're an Alpha,” Stiles gasped, but silently, nonetheless, so the kids wouldn't wake up. Derek offered a modest chuckle and nodded. “Wow, no wonder Isaac behaved strangely around you. My friend, Scott is an Alpha, too, and Isaac's demeanour is the same weird submissive one he has with you.” Derek snickered quietly at the emerge of Stiles' babbling nature.

“You know, the kids' relationship with my best friend and his girlfriend is a bit strange. Isaac trusts Scott because of his help with his self-control, and Erica trusts them mostly because Isaac trusts them,” Stiles explained, then looked at Derek. He was puzzled by the gaze Stiles gave him. “But it's different with you. I can tell. They are going to believe in you because you saved a life. Erica is going to _love_ you for helping her, and Isaac is going to adore you for what you did, totally not caring about the consequences.”

Derek's face changed into a pained expression again. Stiles knew why that was, but he just grinned, full on dimples.

“Oh yeah, big guy, there's no way I'm not telling them how much of a hero you are. I'm totally filling them in with the tale of the officers visiting you here and all,” he said, winking at Derek, now knowing that the man would see it for sure. After a beat, he added, jokingly, “I guess I'll just have to call you Wolverine from now on.”

Derek just rolled his eyes, but it was more fond than mocking. He took his hands away from Stiles', but made sure their upper arms were brushing.

“Go to sleep, Stiles,” he commanded. After a huff of easy, silent laughter, Stiles obeyed him and laid his head on Derek's shoulder. His long fingers found Derek's, and entwined them together. He rested their tangled hands on the armrests and leaned his full bodyweight towards Derek, who was receptive of it, and gave in to Stiles' affection by mirroring him and dropping his head on Stiles'.

Soon there were four even breaths filling in the moonlight-lit ware.


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles was almost done packing their things.

His Dad had called a few days ago to make sure his son wouldn't forget about Thanksgivings, and ever since then, Stiles' life had been a mess. At first he thought about telling his Dad that he couldn't go home this year, but when he talked to Derek, the man said he's got this. Stiles, though being sceptical about it, settled with not refusing his Dad's invitation.

Stiles had also explained to Derek that he hadn't told anyone about the children but to his friends, Scott and Allison. He hadn't even gone home for summer, using his job at the library as an excuse. Derek had asked why he hadn't told his father, and then Stiles had answered that he didn't want his Dad to worry any more about him than he already did. Derek hadn't pushed the subject, which Stiles had been grateful for.

When Stiles glanced through the window, he could see the Camaro, already parked in front of the house.

“Okay, sweets, hurry up,” he called, turning around on his heels, so now his back was facing the glass and the curtains. A giggle came from somewhere, which was almost immediately followed by a hiss. Stiles rolled his eyes fondly, then adjusted his glasses before taking off toward his bedroom—of course they would be there of all the places they could have chosen to hide.

Stiles sneaked into his room silently, a small smile playing at his lips. He was wary and attentive, fully on board with the game the kids had set up, but his concentration was interrupted by the buzzing of his phone. He nearly tripped over his own legs as he flailed to remain stood and prevent himself from landing face-first on the floor. He fumbled with his mobile a little, but managed to unlock the screen and accept the call.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hey,” Derek greeted him back. “I'm here. Are you ready yet?” Stiles chuckled somewhat nervously as his fingers raked through his nest-looking hair as though Derek could see it. He shook his head in an attempt to awake his mind.

“Yeah, almost, I just...” he trailed off, noticing some movements in his peripheral vision. He put a small distance between his ear and his device before calling out, “Come on, babies, reveal yourself, we need to go.” Nothing. “Derek is here,” he added, and if anything, that was enough to chase Erica away from her hiding spot. Stiles crouched down and opened his free arm, inviting and welcoming her in his warm, loving embrace.

“Hi Derek,” she chirped, and the next moment Stiles could hear Derek's easy laughter coming through the mic of his phone. It warmed Stiles' insides and urged a fond lopsided smile to his lips.

“Derek! Derek!” appeared Isaac, upright running towards Stiles and Erica. The teenager couldn't help but join in to Derek's rich, laughing voice.

“Let's go, peeps, he's waiting for us down there,” Stiles jerked his head in the direction of the window, which was now covered by the double layer of curtains, this way making the air dark in his bedroom.

It was enough for the children to leave Stiles and approach the wall. Isaac gripped the ledge and hauled himself up to kneel on it—Stiles loved that window, because it was one where one could sit and gaze the outdoors. Isaac's knee knocked the pillow away as he struggled not to get tangled in the curtains while trying to toss them away from the way.

Stiles chuckled and walked over to the boy. He lifted Erica up to stand on the ledge, too, then reached out and pushed the fabric away. The children stuck their tiny paws on the cold glass as Stiles pointed at a spot at the street.

“See? That pitch black car is called a Camaro,” Stiles explained. “That's Derek's.”

He could hear some rustling noises coming from his cell phone, and he was about to ask Derek about it, but he was beaten to it when he noticed Derek opening the driver's door and stepping out of his Camaro. When he turned and looked up, he raised an arm to wave to the three of them—Stiles immediately knew it was the only reason he left his car, and then couldn't help the fond smile that elicited onto his face.

“Want help with your stuff?” came Derek's voice through the line. Stiles hesitated just a little before giving an answer. He shook his head.

“Nope,” he said, popping the 'p'. “Guess it should be all right.” His gaze was still joined to Derek's, and after winking at the man playfully, knowing he could see it, he broke the connection for the sake of scooping the two wee kids up, shouldering the backpack and the sports bag he had packed their stuff in and heading for the door. Ending the call, he slid his phone in the pocket of his jeans, then knelt down to put Erica and Isaac's shoes on—he had already taken care of his pair.

In three minutes, the three of them were stumbling though the entrance of the block of flats Stiles was living in. Derek went ahead to help Stiles at least with the sports bag despite the teenager's stubborn refusal. Derek took the bag anyway, and hung it over his shoulder for the short trip between their position and the Camaro. Stiles watched in a dazed awe how Derek unlocked the boot and shoved his bag in there, looking completely cool and graceful all the while.

Stiles had to admit he envied that just a little.

When he opened the back door to sit Erica and Isaac there, he spotted a tall and slender pocket with a box next to it. It suspiciously looked like Derek bought something in favour for the invitation. Stiles narrowed his eyes and turned to Derek to question him about it, but he was startled into submissive silence.

When he whipped his head around, Derek was leaning against the black car with his elbow resting on the hood and his eyes fixed firmly on Stiles. Before the teenager had a chance to get _any_ sound out, Derek spoke up first.

“You look amazing,” he complimented. It was enough to make Stiles' knees wobbly and feel like they were made out of jelly instead of solid bones. By the way the corners of Derek's mouth twitched, he suspected he developed a nice blush, too.

Stiles was merely wearing his finest inky dark blue jeans, a pair of sneakers, a white button-up shirt and a light blue sweater vest.

“The glasses really tie the look up,” Derek continued, and Stiles instinctively adjusted his glasses on his face, like he always did when he felt nervous.

“I just threw something on,” Stiles hedged, shrugging and instantly averting his gaze. An amused smile broke out on Derek's handsome face while one of his eyebrows simultaneously arched up. He stepped closer, apparently about to add something else to this conversation, but Isaac cut in.

“You look pretty!” he singsonged. Stiles smiled down at him fondly, his amber gaze immediately shifting into something that appeared to be a melted substance. He crouched down and patted the tip of the boy's nose with the pad of his index finger playfully, then enthusiastically volunteered to close his arms around the kid then he threw himself against Stiles' chest. He placed a kiss against Isaac's temple before releasing him.

Stiles sat both kids in the back, but before shutting the door, he didn't fail to put a kiss on Erica's nose. Derek had already taken his place behind the wheel by the time Stiles hopped in next to him. Derek started up the engine and, glancing at the side mirror, pulled off from his spot to join the cars on the road.

For a while, there was silence among the four of them, but then Stiles' head perked up, his eyes shooting in the direction of the radio.

“Oh my god, it's _Mr. Brightside_!” he cranked up the volume, but then hunched his shoulders as though he was a kid who was caught during mischief.

He turned to give Derek an apologetic look, but the man was just eyeing him with a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Stiles responded to it with one of his own, although a bit shier than Derek's, before slouching back into the seat, relaxed.

Stiles hummed softly along with the rhythm of the song, and apparently couldn't help his head moving, too. Derek watched him amusedly from his peripheral vision, his eyes halfway on the road.

They were still stuck in New York due to the red lights functioning like traps for them right now, and there was still a seven-hour-long trip ahead of them. And Stiles would never let Derek to break the rules again by crossing the road at a red light. Derek had to warn him not to keep reminding him all the time to slow down whenever the green switched to orange, and eventually, Stiles quitted doing it.

When they were half an hour into travelling, Erica silently announced that she had to go to the bathroom, so within a few minutes, the Camaro halted at a roadside café. It read 'Diner' with huge letters which glowed in the dark.

Erica stuck with Derek, while Stiles took Isaac's hand, then their little group approached the building. The first place they went to were the restrooms—they had some problems with Erica being a girl, since none of them could go with her, so they ended up sneaking her in with them to the boys' section.

After their epic time at the toilets, the four of them migrated to the bar, where it had a separate place for a _Starbucks_. Isaac and Erica requested a slice of cake and a cup of hot chocolate, while Derek and Stiles settled with a cup of mocacchino. The guy had some issues with Stiles' name at first, but after Derek spelled it out for him in not a necessarily friendly manner, he scrabbled the nick on the paper cup and handed all four over to his co-worker.

Once their servings were ready, Derek went to take them. The order was on Derek, which he had decided about without discussing it with Stiles. It resulted in a tiny scene with the teenager practically trying to take Derek's wall of muscles down in front of the cashier desperately just so he could pay for their share.

Of course, Derek won the fight.

Stiles' disappointment evaporated, though, when he noticed the two kids laughing at the two of them. Without further argument, he took the children's hot chocolates and cakes and placed them in front of them on the table. Just when he sat down, Derek slid his mocacchino over to him. Their fingers brushed curtly as their hands switched on the cup, causing Stiles' heartbeat to stutter momentarily. All he was capable of was staring at the shiny surface of the table, but when he dared to glance up he noticed Isaac staring at him—it unmistakably meant that the boy could hear his racing heart, and if he could hear it, then Stiles was sure _Derek_ could hear it as well.

It definitely didn't help to get rid of his gradually deepening blush.

When Stiles chanced a glance up at the man, the picture of him trying his hardest to dig and bury his gaze in the mocacchino welcomed him. If anything, it helped him to ease down on his nervousness even if just a little bit.

. o O o .

By the end of their trip, the sky had started to bleed into several shades of warm colours—burning red, flaming orange and deep greyish violet. The beams of the setting Sun cast Derek's profile into something utterly beautiful in Stiles' opinion, which he couldn't express with words, his thesaurus not being comprehensive enough. He didn't realize his discreet peek had shifted into gawking until Derek's pale green eyes moved away from the road ahead in favour of glancing at Stiles from the corner of his eye.

Stiles immediately turned away, probably flailing a bit too much, and pretended to continue studying his compulsory reading. The thick book of law was heavy against his thighs, he determined once his attention wasn't zeroed in on Derek's shape anymore.

The music in the car was played from a CD Stiles had brought with himself to the trip. Derek agreed to listen to it, and as far as Stiles could tell, the man took joy in the album _Save Rock and Roll_ , too, peppered with some other songs by haphazard bands.

They arrived at Beacon Hills around seven in the evening. Derek pulled his Camaro up to the driveway next to the squad car while Stiles was fumbling with his backpack, trying to put his heavy law book away.

He got out of the car and went for the back to open the door and get Erica out. Simultaneously, Derek was doing the same with Isaac on the other side. Before Stiles could do it, Derek picked up both of their bags from the boot.

“Hey, hand over mine at least, otherwise you won't be able to give Dad the presents yourself,” Stiles pointed out, his voice dully sharp with sarcasm. Derek all but smirked, and after throwing a wink over to Stiles, he grabbed the box and the pocket, too. If Stiles shook his head at that, it was out of pure fondness.

Stiles took both of the kids' hands and headed to the front door. It didn't take long for the Sheriff to tear the door open impatiently and for that smile to break out on his face—that particular private one, carefully saved for his only son.

“Hey, kiddo,” he greeted Stiles, already hugging him. Stiles' arms immediately snaked around this father's body, his eyes closing and him feeling vulnerable, nostalgic for a second. Then he abruptly let go of him for the sake of stepping out of the way to introduce him to Derek.

“Hey, so,” he cleared his throat. “He's the one I told you about.”

The Sheriff's eyes moved away from him to give a once-over to Derek. His hand smoothed onto his hip, subtly revealing his gun and making sure that his badge was well available. A satisfied smile appeared on his face when he saw Derek glancing down at the weapon. Stiles groaned.

“Dad, _please_ ,” he whined. “There are kids here, save the top five 'I'm the cop father of that boy'-kind of threats of yours for later!”

At the word 'kids', the Sheriff instantly dropped his stern interrogating face and let his hand to fall limply to his side. Differing from his previous gestures, a warm welcoming grin crept its way to his face before waving for Derek to feel free to come inside. Stiles rolled his eyes at him as he walked pass him.

Some music was played softly in the background—something retro, but Stiles couldn't complain. If he was honest with himself, he missed it, all of it. It was entirely his father after all.

“I honest to God thought for a while you'd say no,” said suddenly the Sheriff, startling both Stiles and Derek into a halt in their steps. They exchanged a look, which was broken by Stiles, who closed his eyes in secret remorse. At the lack of reply from either of the boys, Stiles' father decided to change the subject. “And what about the children?” he asked, smiling down at them. Both were snuggling into Stiles' jeans as if trying to hide their faces and entire bodies.

Stiles' jaw fell, starting a gaping marathon until his brain supplied him with a witty answer, but Derek was faster.

“They are mine,” he said. Stiles really needed to pay attention to keep his face in control so that it wouldn't give them away. No wonder why Derek said he's got this—apparently he had come here with a plan. “They belong to my _elder sister, Laura_ , in fact, but she's preoccupied with smoothing her marriage with Miguel.” The constant lies were strewing from his lips so confidently that for a second even Stiles himself believed all of it. Derek's eyes didn't even twitch nor was there any odd jerks in his gestures. His voice remained steady, as well as his gaze.

The Sheriff nodded silently, but Stiles knew him all too well. It wasn't over yet.

“That's nice of you,” he complimented, adding a curt nod. “I bet she has to travel a lot. Don't misunderstand me, though, I'm glad Stiles brought someone at last besides Scott,” Stiles gave him a fond, half-hearted glare at that, “but why did you come, then?”

Just when Stiles began to think it was finally over and his father's interrogating skills were too developed and he picked up on the lie with his keen cop senses, Derek replied with ease.

“You know how stubborn Stiles can be,” was what he chose to go with, and if anything, that finally managed to break the tough surface of the Sheriff. He dropped his inner officer entirely, and switched solely into the role of the father.

“You got it,” the Sheriff said, already smiling, before taking a turn and heading toward the kitchen.

Stiles gave a wide grin to Derek, who just winked back at him like they were partners in crime. If Stiles' heart skipped a beat, it was definitely because of his relief. Not the gesture.

They followed the man only to find him bending in front of the oven, eyeing the turkey in there. Having realized that every part of tonight's meal had already been done, Stiles automatically busied himself with setting the table after sitting the children there and handling a conversation with them.

As for Derek, he approached the Sheriff and cleared his throat. The man turned, absently wiping his hands with a cloth for no particular reason, since they were clean, arching a brow at Derek. He lifted the presents mildly.

“I brought something as a thank you for the invitation,” he said. The Sheriff awkwardly threw the cloth on the counter, before reaching out to take the box and the pocket.

“You shouldn't have,” he said. His voice was genuine, giving away to both Stiles and Derek that he had meant it, hadn't just said it out of mere courtesy. Derek smiled easily, shrugging.

“Just a bottle of wine and an apple pie.”

“You cooked a pie?” interjected Stiles abruptly, drawing both men's attention at him. Stiles was frozen mid-movement, halfway to place a fork on the neatly folded napkin next to a plate. Derek's deadpan face was enough of an answer. Stiles allowed a free way for a shit-eating grin to invade his face. “Oh my God, you totally did, didn't you.”

“Stiles,” came the Sheriff's tired voice. Stiles submissively stopped and continued his duty. Once Stiles' attention wasn't focused on him, Derek sneaked a warm smile at Stiles.

While Stiles finished setting the table, Derek was helping the Sheriff, since the teenager had shooed him away. His Dad had insisted on Derek just taking a place at the table, but he strongly refused, so in the end the two Stilinski men ended up letting him help.

“When are Scott and Melissa coming?” Stiles asked, adjusting the night blue vase with the tan rose thread in it in the middle of the table.

“They should be here soon,” came the answer, which Stiles acknowledged with a tiny nod.

“Okay, I'll take our stuff upstairs,” he announced, and the children became jittery in less than a second.

“Can we see your room?” requested Erica. Stiles just laughed, head tipped back, full on dimples and easy, his hands finding his belly. He nodded.

“Sure,” he stuck both of his hands out, indicating for the two kids to take them. Derek stood up as well, apparently willing to take the two sports bags and the backpack up with him. Stiles didn't even try to talk him out of it again.

Derek picked their packages up from where they'd left them, before following the three up on the stairs. At the top of the staircase, they took a turn to the right, heading straightly for Stiles' bedroom. His _childhood bedroom_ , Derek reminded himself, feeling his heart to be pounding in his throat.

Stiles pushed the ajar door open, and just as the way was free in front of them, Isaac and Erica ran in there, taking less than five seconds to seize the bed. Stiles laughed, then abruptly remembered that Derek was still standing there with the heavy bags.

“Just drop them somewhere,” he said, his voice wavering just a little, and waving a hand in the general direction of his room. Derek did as he was told. He moved leftwards, then put everything down in the corner. Stiles joined them and announced solemnly, “Well, this is my room.”

As though that was his cue, Derek started wandering around. He paced through the entire room, while Stiles was playing with the children. Erica was climbing onto his back, and Isaac was proclaiming his lap as his property without words, when Stiles heard the doorbell ring downstairs.

“Sorry, babies, I need to go now,” he said, carefully lowering them on the bed. He kissed the tops of their heads before running off. He bounced down the stairs, impatient and eager to see his best friend—the two of them hadn't seen each other for a long while, because Scott had come home a few days prior to Stiles. He also missed Melissa.

He ran to the front door and tore it open only for the smile on his face to disappear in an instant.

Of course this was the moment when everything had to go shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I'm not sorry for the cliffhanger :3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I left you all with a cliffhanger last time and haven't updated in a long while, but now here is the new chapter! I'm glad to see that you were looking forward to it and enjoy my story so far.
> 
> I wonder what your reaction will be when it comes down to the ultimate twist in the tale. ;)
> 
> Unbeta'd. (Now go and read who's at the door.)

“What are _you_ doing here?”

“Stiles!” came his father's voice from the kitchen. It was scolding, but Stiles couldn't care less about that. Averting his gaze, he looked at Scott, who just gave him a subtle shrug and an apologetic expression.

Stiles cleared his throat.

“Come on in,” he gritted through his teeth as his hand tossed the door further open, and he stepped aside, giving way. He smiled invitingly at Melissa and his best friend, however, deliberately failed to do so with Mr. McCall. Stiles moved to close the door, but when he turned he was startled back against it. The man had purposefully halted, and was now staring at him. It crept Stiles out. He could feel the fluffs of hair straining upwards in fright.

“How's school, Stiles?” The teenager crossed his arms over his chest defensively, shrugging.

“Good,” he gave his curt reply. He never really looked at the man in front of him, but now he averted his gaze as far as he could, focusing his eyes on his feet as he was shuffling one of them over the rug.

“Midterms?” Stiles narrowed his eyes. Simultaneously, a deep frown etched itself into his features.

“Why aren't you asking your _son_ all of this stuff, huh?” he scoffed back, aggressively shooting a hateful glare at McCall.

“Stiles, you coming?” came his Dad's impatient voice.

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles said, then waved with his hand, indicating for the man to step aside and let him go.

“Bring the others, too.” McCall's eyebrows furrowed at that parental order.

“You have your friends here?” he asked as Stiles, realizing there was no point in waiting for McCall to allow him to go, hurtled his way pass the agent. Stiles left him there without saying anything else.

He hurried up the stairs, heading straightly for his room. By the time he opened the door, Derek was already standing at it with both of the kids sitting on his forearms. Stiles smiled.

“Of course you heard Dad,” he waved a hand in front of his face absently, then turned and gestured for Derek to follow. “Come, dinner's ready.”

They walked down the stairs, straightly going for the dining-room. It's safe to say that Derek almost immediately spotted the newcomer pie next to his. Stiles chuckled as he took Erica from Derek's right arm.

“Melissa always brings the pie,” he explained, then, after sitting the girl down, moved to take care of Isaac, too.

The wee boy grinned at Scott, who requited the warm welcoming with a lopsided smile of his own. Finishing sitting the kids down, Stiles straightened and stepped next to Derek, his palm instinctively finding the man's leather jacket-covered muscled back. Stiles could literally feel the valley of Derek's spine even through the two layers of clothes, but he forced his brain to focus on what had to be done.

“Everyone, this is Derek,” he said, before naming everyone in the room. “That's Scott, my best friend whom I told you about, she's his mother, Melissa, and his dad, Rafael.” Derek offered a modest smile to all of them, however, Stiles noticed that particular vague difference between this smile and _that private_ one which he noticed Derek had started giving him lately.

They took their places at the table. The two fathers were sitting at the two ends, Melissa and Scott were next to each other, and Derek and Stiles were on the same side of the table. They sat down so that Stiles and Scott would be facing each other. Isaac and Erica were squeezed in between Stiles and Derek, as though the four of them were a family now.

Stiles had already told Scott about Derek being an Alpha for the sake of saving Scott's potential pep-talks about his insecurity and also to make sure he wouldn't be surprised once the two of them met in real life for the first time, but apparently even his preparations couldn't get ahead of those two sneaking subtle, faint glares in each others' direction when they thought Stiles wasn't looking.

Stiles didn't care about that much, though, since he was too preoccupied having to deal with the not-at-all-subtle death glares his and Scott's father were shoving at each other anyway. He was sure if they could kill by their bare gaze, they'd take down the other without thinking twice and without any remorse. He wanted to do something about it, because the tension was getting so thick between the two men that Stiles was afraid he'd cut through it accidentally with his knife when he just wants another bit of his turkey.

He cleared his throat.

“Who wants dessert?”

Like a miracle, the suffocating tension was broken. Melissa sent Stiles a grateful smile as the teenager stood, looking around the table.

“Me!” “Me!” came the immediate answer from the two kids at the same time. Stiles chuckled at their intense reaction, their hands flying in the air and making grabby motions. The Sheriff cleared his throat, too.

“Well then, I guess it's time for the pies,” he announced. He was just about to stand, having pushed his chair backwards, but Stiles meekly placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You stay,” he said in a somewhat authoritative tone. When his Dad answered with nothing but a deadpan face, Stiles went on. “You prepared the whole thing, since the children, Derek and I arrived late, so there's no way I'm letting you tidying the table.”

The Sheriff briefly placed his palm over Stiles', and squeezed softly before letting go. Stiles smirked triumphantly.

In less than a minute, he collected the dirty dishes and balanced the tower of plates over to the kitchen. The placed them in the sink carefully, then grabbed the two pies along with some fresh napkins, and headed back to the table, where the conversation was now much lighter. Melissa was cooing to the kids, as well as the Sheriff, despite the fact that the two weren't reciprocating to them at all. Stiles refrained from telling the two adults that there was no chance for either Erica nor Isaac to say anything, so he just put the pies in the middle.

“So, what did you say, where is Derek sleeping, again?” Stiles' Dad asked as soon as his son was sat. For Stiles' luck, he didn't have anything in his mouth so there was nothing he could have choked on. He did suck in a sharp breath, though—if he was honest, he hadn't thought about that tiny detail yet.

“Well,” he began, risking a glance at his father's face, who was eyeing him attentively. Stiles swallowed. He decided he'd act it out easily, like he wasn't under severe pressure at the moment. “I thought they could stay over.”

“Where would they sleep?” the Sheriff pushed. Stiles gave him a confused frown.

“What do you mean? We have enough space. There's even a spare bedroom.” The Sheriff shook his head dismissively, urging Stiles' brow to arch up.

“They are sleeping here,” his Dad explained, raking his gaze over the McCall family.

“Well then, they could maybe,” Stiles said, clearing his throat, “sleep in my room.” It almost came out as a question. Scott made a disbelieving face at him, like he was too naïve to think the Sheriff would let his only son to sleep with another man—but there would be two children as well, which would mean there would be no chance for them to do anything the Sheriff would not approve.

The man exhaled a long, sharp breath, his fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose frustratedly.

“All right,” he said in the end.

Stiles beamed solemnly.

During the consumption of the pies, the bottle of wine was opened, too, which was brought by Derek. Isaac and Erica requested for a sip from Stiles' glass, but both of their reaction was either their face scrunching up in disgust or scoffing at the claret substance. The elders chuckled at them, and Stiles went to get juice for the kids.

Sitting back on his chair, he poured a generous amount into their glasses, then took his own in his hand. He sloshed the wine around in it for a while, before taking a short sip from it.

Once the dinner was over, the adults left for the living-room, leaving Scott and Stiles to take care of the dishes. It was vaguely obvious that Derek was torn between staying with the teenagers and joining the parents, however, after not just the Sheriff but Stiles urged him to go, too, he gave ground. Before going to the living-room, though, he took the already drowsy kids upstairs.

“So,” Scott spoke up, idly rubbing the sponge to a particularly dirty spot on a plate. Stiles hummed, not even looking up from his work, this way asking Scott to go on. “How's Derek?”

“Good,” answered Stiles, his eyes flickering in the direction of the door of the kitchen. He lowered his voice, “But I don't really want to talk about it now. You're not the only one with the package of sharp werewolf-y hearing and everything.” Scott snickered, shaking his head.

“Right.” He handed over the foamy plate to Stiles to rinse and wipe dry. “But if we keep our voice down, he won't hear us, you know.” Stiles gave him a sceptical look at that. As Scott lifted his hands defensively, the foam started to slowly float down on his forearms. With the dopey grin on his face, he gave quite a laugh-worthy view—Stiles was considerate enough to bite his tongue before laughing out loud, though. Scott added, “And I'm saying it while being the one with the werewolf-y senses.”

Stiles sighed.

“He's awesome,” he admitted, his voice less than a whisper. Even Scott could hardly catch up on what he'd said, so it really wasn't an option that Derek had heard it as well. “He saved Erica and all. And he helps me with the children. He promised to take care of them, and he did just that when I had to practice for my midterm shooting exam.”

“I know,” Scott nodded. “You already told me that much.” Stiles frowned at that phrase.

“What _else_ do you—” he started to ask, but was cut off when his brain caught up. His jaw fell in a disbelieving stare. Scott squeaked.

“Don't look at me like _that_! Am I not allowed to worry for my brother?” Scott hedged.

“There is _nothing_ like that,” Stiles said evenly, attempting to busy his attention by wiping the glass fully dry. Scott snorted.

“You lied,” he announced.

“I did not,” Stiles fought back, probably a bit too fast. Scott looked at him with a deadpan expression.

“Dude,” he pointed a finger at his chest. “Your heartbeat accelerated when you said 'nothing'.” Stiles huffed frustratedly, muttering something insulting to werewolves under his breath, but the vivid blush spread out on his cheeks anyway.

“Nothing happened,” he said, this time even more quietly.

“But you want something to happen, don't you.” That was definitely not a question. Stiles glanced at Scott. There was no judgement on his friend's face, merely genuine concern, which calmed Stiles down enough to allow himself to slowly nod. Scott's hand reflexively shot up to rub his brother's back reassuringly, momentarily forgetting that his hand was still moist. Stiles shrieked when his palm smoothed on his back.

“Jesus Christ, watch your hand!” he exclaimed, but Scott, the traitor, just laughed nicely at him. Stiles glared at his friend, but the other refused to acknowledge it.

Stiles rolled his eyes in annoyance, but still, as a paradox, the gesture was more bordering fond, not mocking.

After that, they quickly finished up. Scott reluctantly volunteered to put the plates and silverware away, while Stiles busied himself with cleaning the counter and the sink. He hung the cloth out on the tap, then dried his hands and joined Scott, who was already on his way toward the living-room.

Scott flopped to the floor, and it was out of question as to where Stiles would sit—without thinking, he took the spot right next to Scott, laying on his belly after snatching a pillow from the couch. The others were chewing on popcorn, which had been made while the two boys had been in the middle of cleaning up, and apparently Scott had no intentions of letting them not to share it.

Like the great brother that he was, he stole one of the bowls and set it on the floor between him and Stiles, who threw him an appreciative grin over his shoulder, his hand already finding and delving into the pack of snack.

Stiles, having just realized what they were actually watching, began whining.

“ _Da-ad_ ,” he whipped his head around to look at his father. The man merely arched an eyebrow comically, as though not asking but _daring_ his son to go on. Stiles just huffed, however, gave ground and stuck his eyes on the screen again. It was some old movie his father and him had seen a zillion times, but it would seem that his Dad couldn't get enough of it.

Stiles' feet were resting on the edge of the couch, right next to Derek's thigh, so he really shouldn't have been so caught off-guard when he felt a broad, warm palm tentatively stroking his bare skin over his ankle as a way of showing comfort. Stiles' heart rate enhanced at the feeling, and judging by the way Scott's hand was shaking the next time to reached out for more popcorn, he was snickering, definitely having heard the frantic beats coming from Stiles' chest.

Stiles did his best to zero in on what was going on on the TV, but it was pretty hard when it wasn't just boring but Stiles acknowledged Derek's presence way more vividly than the show.

Thankfully, though, once it was over, Stiles had the chance to opt the next film to watch, which was obviously way more enjoyable for both him and Scott. Since _Iron Man 3_ wasn't as interesting for the Sheriff, he excused himself to leave for the kitchen in order to bring more popcorn. Stiles winked at Scott and shamelessly high fived him, then rearranged the huge cushion under his chest, stuffing it up so he could rest his chin on it and still see the wide screen, which now depicted Tony Stark first meeting the kid.

. o O o .

Taking baths was another amazing experience with the house being full of people. After several debates concerning who should go first, the order was finally figured out. Since Derek was okay with any solution, he ended up being the last one.

By the time he came back to Stiles' room, Stiles had already put the kids in the middle of the mattress and he himself laid between their little bodies and the wall. He propped himself up on an elbow to greet Derek with a smile, but he was taken aback as soon as he realized the man was still dripping wet and there was merely a towel lazily hung across his hips as a way of cover. His fingers were raking through his hair as he walked closer, having closed the door previously.

Stiles ducked back on the mattress with a not quite subtle movement, just when a soft squeak passed through his lips. He buried his face in the pillow, being a bit ashamed of his reaction, and waited for Derek to join him and the kids on the bed with anticipation and, once again, a racing heart.

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly when the bed dipped, signing that Derek had arrived.

Stiles swallowed against a lump which he hadn't even recognized before, and after that, there was the unmistakable touch of someone else's fingertips meekly glazing across his skin. He couldn't help his eyes shooting open in an instant, finding Derek's face probably a bit too fast.

Derek was just gazing him with a fond smile adorning his lips, his eyes slowly blinking and his dark lashes fanning over his high, sharp cheekbones as they closed. Stiles was only capable of staring up at Derek's face with a slightly agape mouth.

When Stiles' jaw moved, Derek immediately shushed him by placing his index finger on the boy's bottom lip, his eyes never letting go of Stiles'. The boy's heart was a constant frantic beating in the otherwise mute room in Derek's ears.

They were just like that, ogling each other without doing pretty much anything else. That was, until Derek finally made a move—he leaned right into Stiles' space, crowding his head between his forearms and burying his nose in the crook of the teenager's neck, inhaling deeply. His mouth was open against the skin, causing all of his hot breaths to collide with it and send several pleasant shivers down Stiles' spine.

Then the next second Derek's lips delicately grazed along the jugular vein. Despite the hotness helplessly spreading out within Stiles, it was sporadically interrupted by cold drops of water falling from the man's messy strands of hair.

Stiles involuntarily tipped his head back, revealing the long, pale column of his neck invitingly, which chased a low groan out of Derek, leaving back a permanent growl rumbling somewhere deep in his chest. He opened his mouth to bite, to mark, to do _something_ , his intentions loud and clear and _maddeningly_ close to come true. Stiles, however, snapped back to reality when a tiny paw fisted his T-shirt and pulled at it.

“Uh,” he blurted as his hands found Derek's shoulders and made a gentle attempt to push the wall of muscle away. Apparently he wasn't the only one to be in a haze, because when he looked into Derek's eyes his gaze was foggy and seemingly wandering somewhere in the infinity.

That lasted until he blinked, and with that tiny twitch, he awoke, too.

“Jesus, I'm so sorry,” he said, already climbing back to his place on the bed, which was on the other side of the two kids. Stiles pursed his lips, shaking his head dismissively.

“No, it's—” Stiles bit his lip, his eyes fixed on a haphazard spot on the sheets as though they were anything to pique his interest.

He only heard the way Derek made himself comfortable. Once he was done, the kids unconsciously rearranged themselves between their bodies. Stiles and Derek instinctively turned to lay on their sides, which resulted in them facing each other, their frame around the children protective.

Stiles' arms were already wrapped around Erica and Isaac, but soon Derek threw his around them, too, joining Stiles'. They were incredibly close to each other, but still too far away. The dubious feelings were internally ripping Stiles apart, though he did his best to fight his thoughts and wants. He knew he succeeded when, as Derek's fingers tentatively found his warm skin and began rubbing it, he was courageous enough to look up and lock his gaze with Derek's.

“Good night,” he murmured, before closing his eyes and drifting off to the baulk of dreams with Derek following suit not long after.


End file.
